


The Song Must Be Sung

by MischaPetrovna



Series: Song of Ice and Fire: Ballad of the Dragon and the Wolf [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya The Explorer, Dead Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, King Jon Snow, Not for Jonerys fans, Post-Finale, Slow Burn, Smut Comes in Later, i don't know how to tag, past Gendrya, past Jonerys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaPetrovna/pseuds/MischaPetrovna
Summary: Post Season 8: Alternate EndingNotice: Jonrya Story.Past Gendrya reference / Definitely not for Jonerys fans."Jon's going to kill me for letting you go."Were the Queen In the North's last words to Arya Stark shortly before the latter departed on her voyage to uncharted lands after the Great War.Jon finds himself widowed and seated on the Iron Throne he never wanted when Daenerys perished some years after their wedding, taking their stillborn daughter with her. Westeros has never been more peaceful, yet nightmares continue to plague him--a war within his own heart.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Series: Song of Ice and Fire: Ballad of the Dragon and the Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738519
Comments: 156
Kudos: 192





	1. Prologue

_ “Uncharted lands?” Sansa inquired.  _ _  
_ _ “Sansa...” she responded firmly. “They’re only unknown because none have returned to confirm their existence. I have been curious about this venture since my time with the Faceless Men. I want to complete the maps! Every map stops right there…” _ _  
_ _ “Will you return to confirm these, Arya?” _ _  
_ _ “Not if I find anything that convinces me to stay away.” she responded jokingly. When Sansa didn’t reply, Arya softened. “I don’t know, Sansa. I don’t think so.”  _

_ Sansa’s brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t want to be the person who stops you from living the way you want to--I may have been that way as your sister but never as your Queen. But as it were, Bran will be on the journey to King’s Landing tomorrow for Jon’s wedding to the Dragon Queen…” _ _  
  
_

_ Arya’s lips formed a firm line. _ _  
  
_

_ “...I need all the help I can get to rebuild Winterfell after The Long Night. You and I, as the last remaining trueborn Starks--” _

_ “What could you possibly need me for? I’d be a terrible Hand. You still have over half our army and any of them could make great executioners…” _

_ “Have you reconsidered Lord Baratheon’s propo--” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Arya slammed her fist on the table. “I ended the Long Night. I defeated the Night King. I don’t think I owe Westeros anything more, even as a member of House Stark.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Sansa stared at her sister. She knew that fire behind her eyes. Arya was leaving with or without her blessing. She was only asking to be respectful. To show her that she recognizes her as her elder sister--and the Queen. “Is this truly what you desire?” _

_ Arya’s brows softened. “Yes, Your Grace. The ship I intend to take can leave as soon as tomorrow. I’m not taking much material, and a handful of our men who’ve lost their families and several from the Night’s Watch. I can depart after Bran leaves for the Red Keep.” _

_ “So soon?” Sansa queried. _ _  
_ _ “I hate goodbyes.” Arya answered. “You know I’d never prolong pain.”  _

_ With defeated tears, Sansa hugged her sister for what could be the last in this lifetime. They have barely reunited but she’s come to accept that her little sister has always been a nonconformist and wants to carve a path of her own. “I will always be hopeful for your return, Arya. Winterfell is your home.” _

_ ‘It was, once. It will never be now.’ Arya thought to herself as she reciprocated her sister’s hug. “I need to say goodbye to Bran.” she muttered. “I’ll join you for supper?”  _

_ Sansa shot her a mournful look and nodded. “Please.”  _

_ “You’ll be a great Queen, Sansa. Our people have always loved you. Mother and Father would have been proud of you and everything that you would do for the North. Worry not--”  _ _  
_

_  
_ _ “It’s not that.” Sansa retorted softly. _

_ Arya paused. “What is it?” _

_ “Jon’s going to kill me for letting you go.” _


	2. The Winter King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years after Arya's expedition

King’s Landing has turned into a more suburban Metropolis. Jon often finds himself cringing when he is addressed as ‘Your Grace’, inside the castle walls. At night he finds himself mournful yet somewhat resentful of Daenerys’ memory. To rule the Seven Kingdoms has always been her dream, not his. He craved a different kind of life. A life he could no longer remember. But he knew it wasn’t this life. 

It’s been five years since her passing, and attempts by Tyrion and Ser Davos for him to remarry have been unsuccessful. Ladies, commoners, and foreign beauties have been introduced to him but none of them gave him comfort or any interest. In whispers, he was called “The Winter King.” It was partly because of his Stark heritage--but mostly because of the cold and aloof demeanor he began to display in social settings upon his coronation. He hardly smiled anymore. Even when he did, it was faint and painfully forced out of politeness.    
  
‘Your Grace,’ ‘King Aegon,’ he would be called. He would cringe internally each time. Towards the end of her life, Daenerys encouraged the household to always address him by his name. ‘You are the Prince Of Dragonstone--my Prince Consort. Claim your name, or how will our son embrace being Aegon VII?’ she’d say. Though he truly loved her, he hated her in these moments. It broke his heart to have to be proclaimed as King after her death along with their daughter--but fortunately, Ser Davos, Bran, Sam and Tyrion--the minds behind his rule, have kept the six kingdoms at peace. 

Most importantly--behind closed doors and amongst themselves, they still called him Jon. He is confident that their presence has kept him grounded and off the edge of total darkness during these empty years.

  
  


“Where’s Bran?” Jon queried as he eyed the empty council chair.

“Likely warging, Your Grace.” Tyrion retorted. 

“Very well.” He answered, taking his seat and the rest of them followed. “Let’s begin without him, Ser Davos.” 

“A raven from Dragonstone with good reports, Your Grace. Greyworm is happy to announce that Drogon has been flying well without issue with the citizens...” 

Jon fought to keep his ears open as countless other orders of business were addressed.    
“News from the North?” Jon asked.   
“The Queen In The North has sent some men to explore possible emergence of spring beyond the Wall. She sends her warmest greetings to you and Lord Bran.”    
Jon nodded.   
“No ships have arrived from the west coast, Your Grace.” Ser Davos added quietly.

  
Jon’s lips firmed and he stared out the nearest window. A familiar air of sadness, emptiness filled him. Bran cannot confirm where she is--only that she’s alive and doesn’t want to be found. But her return is inevitable, though he couldn’t say when that would be. It was painful to discover that she’s set sail with no promise to return and not so much as a farewell to him either. Their reunion at Winterfell before the long night is a memory that he often revisits in his mind. Her grown facial features--yet her wide familiar smile when he called her name, her staying in his arms without any words exchanged for an eternity. Sometimes it scared him to realize that he wanted to stay in that memory longer than he should. 

  
How could she just--leave? Of course she wouldn’t have told him. He would have done everything in his power to get her to stay. When he got stabbed in the heart and died, the memory of Arya’s laughter calling his name brought him back. 

They were the closest amongst the Stark children. Sure, Robb was a very present and loving brother to Arya--but Jon secretly took guilty pleasure when Arya would seek his comfort beyond anyone else in the family. Memories of her as a little girl, with grey but brightly defiant eyes that he could never say no to would always seek his for comfort and encouragement when the Lady Stark would express disapproval over her passion for anything unladylike flooded his mind. She would always fit perfectly on his lap and they would read together after an afternoon of small game hunting. Many evenings when sleep wouldn’t come upon her, she would climb into his bed and doze off peacefully in his arms while her small fingers would caress his jaw. There were even times when he couldn’t sleep, and he would wish for her to come to him--and each time, she did. Her small head would fit right in his chest, her soft hand would clasp his face and his arm would be wrapped under her neck. 

When Ned Stark announced that Arya was going to accompany himself and Sansa to King’s Landing, panic and sadness subdued him. But he couldn’t show her his weakness. There was nothing that he could’ve done about the change then. He had the smithy fashion her a sword of her own, which she lovingly named Needle--in hopes that it would remind her of him and the bond that they shared. He feared that she would forget him.

So when they reunited he swore that he would never be apart from her again. Arya would’ve despised living in King’s Landing, especially because of all the bad memories she had there. But he was confident that she would endure as long as he remains by her side, despite her distrust of Daenerys. The thought of her besting the finest of Kingsguard in both archery and swordplay almost made him smile. 

“Your Grace?”

“Go on, Sam…”    
“I have sent ravens on your behalf to the Iron Islands, to congratulate Lady Yara on the arrival of her first born child. He’s named Theon.” 

Jon nodded, still disinterested.   
“I--also took the liberty of sending the Lord of Storm’s End your well wishes for his upcoming wedding to Vanya Kyr of Volantis.”

“Mmm.” he sighed and turned to Ser Davos. “Would you carry on with the rest? I need to speak to Bran.” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” 

They all stood as Jon resigned the room. 

  
  


Bran situated his solar near the castle’s library--in close proximity to Sam’s Quarters where he resided with his family. Jon found him staring into space as always with a warm cup of light plum tea in his hands.   
“I’m sorry to have missed the meeting.”    
Jon shrugged and took a seat by the nearby couch and motioned for the maid to pour him a goblet of mead. “You didn’t miss anything.”   
“I know.” he responded. “Your nightmares, you haven’t talked to me about them recently.”    
“I haven’t had--not since last week.” Jon responded and turned to the maid after she poured his cup. “Leave us for a moment.”    
“Please stay. His Grace will have to depart shortly anyway.” Bran interrupted.   
Jon’s brows furrowed. Any decent King would have had a row with anyone who overrode the simplest order--but he knew that Bran as a Three Eyed Raven, spoke differently. It was always in puzzles. He was sometimes upset with himself that these types of things don’t upset him enough. 

The maid turned to continue dusting a nearby bookshelf. 

  
“The nightmares will continue to cease. But to prevent war, you have to go home. To keep peace, you have to stay home.”    
This wasn’t the first time that Bran had mentioned a potential war. Jon knew that the country couldn’t afford another onslaught of deaths. He would avoid a war as much as possible. “To Winterfell? Their independence has been the most peaceful, Bran. Sansa is a much better ruler than I.”    
“Your home is not in Winterfell.” Bran answered and took a sip of his tea. “Home is the light in your darkness, the calm in your storm, the life in your death.”    
Jon sighed in frustration. “How are we going to avoid the war, Bran? Where should I go?” 

“You are exactly where you’re supposed to be.” Bran answered with finality.    
“For once I wish you would just---” 

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Sam barged into the room. “I--I’m sorry to interrupt--but--Your Grace--”    
Jon turned, unamused. “Sam.”   
“A raven--from Kingsroad--The Hero of Winterfell--was spotted…”    
“When?” Jon’s eyes grew wide. “How certain--”    
“This is the first report we have ever received about her in being in Westeros! Since she left...”   
“A lot of people could look like her--”   
“They described seeing--they described her sword--Needle…”    
Jon stood immediately. “Where was she heading?”   
“Ser Davos speculates Winterfell--but not…”   
“Send an urgent messenger to the Queen in the North immediately, request an audience--ask Ser Podrick to ready Rhaegal for a possible flight…” his commands continued as he quitted the room with Sam.

Bran remained unsurprisingly calm and set his tea down the table. He paused for a time and then spoke softly to the maid who has started arranging books. 

  
“You can remove your mask now if you like. He won’t be returning anytime soon.” 


	3. The Dreams That Lead Us Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three Eyed Raven flies through memories

Arya never wanted to return to Westeros. She never thought she would. She had made a life for herself across the Unknown Sea--and she felt that there was nothing more she could do in these lands. She lived a life that was--enough. For years she lived a peaceful life.   
  
Yet the nightmares. They’ve gotten worse. Worse than the pain she endured during the Long Night. Worse than the pain of the Waif’s knives. Seeing Jon laying in a pool of his own blood by an unknown hand. No, it wasn’t his death that was painful. He had died before and she knew that all men must die eventually. The pain lay in Jon’s eyes that stared at her directly. They were empty. They were sorrowful. They hurt. They hurt so much he didn’t have tears for them. They bore right into hers--and in her wake, her heart physically stung. 

She wasn’t surprised when Bran called her out.   
She was surprised that he let her stay hidden for the past week in the castle. 

“How did you find me?” Arya asked.   
It was a raven from Bran that called her back.   
“My reach can go beyond the unknown. You took a part of me with you, in your blood.” Bran answered. “You haven’t had those dreams since you came here. I’m happy you’ve settled.” 

Arya sighed. “Thank you--I… I didn’t think it was possible but--to see you…” Arya gave her brother a hug. Though he didn’t fully reciprocate, she felt his appreciation.  
“I need to return to Amaranthine before I get discovered, Bran. Please tell me how I can save him.”   
“From death? You can’t. Valar Morghulis.”   
“From the pain, Bran. Also, what nightmares has he been--”   
“You should ask him that.” Bran answered.   
Arya sighed. “I need to make my stay here as short as possible. My boat will not remain hidden in that cave and the next Westward ship will sail in three weeks from Bear Mountain.” she paused. “Tell me what I need to do here, so I can be on my way.” 

Bran paused and for the first time turned his chair to another direction in the room. The portrait of the Targaryen sigil hung proudly above the west wall. “As soon as you leave, his nightmares will continue to get worse. This will make him as mad as his great ancestor. It will start the game that you despise once more.”   
  
Arya’s lips firmed. “Are you saying that if I leave--everything will go to shit?”   
Bran stayed silent.   
“Fuck.” Arya quipped. “I’m a prisoner. I’ll never be free.”   
“You’ve never been free, Arya.” 

She glared at him. “I made a life for myself across the sea--if you really do see everything you would know--”   
“I don’t see everything. But I do know of what I have. I am a keeper of memories. I kept yours when you said farewell to me seven years past. You escaped the life you thought you had to have here only to run into the same thing in a different land. Different roads lead to the same castle.” 

Arya stayed still as she watched his eyes turn gray. “Bran…” 

_She was mad at him. She didn’t really want to see him, but she had to. The Night King was coming, and they had to speak of strategy. At first she couldn’t understand why Jon would bend the knee to a Targaryen--but when she saw her--she bitterly understood. Daenerys Targaryen was beautiful. She looked like a princess, but she rode like a warrior. She rode her dragon and commanded her men with admirable softness that she didn’t think possible. She would have probably gathered her loyalty had she not seen how Jon lovingly attended to her. He was smitten. Arya avoided formal presentations and opted to surprise him at one of their favorite places in the North, the Godswood._

_“How did you sneak up on me?” Jon asked, bewildered at her sight._ _  
_ _‘Stay formal. Don’t let him see you. It’s business. You’re no one.’_ _  
_ _“How did you survive a knife in the heart?”_ _  
_ _“I didn’t.” he answered._ _  
_ _He seeked her eyes. She raised a brow._ _  
_ _“Arya…” he whispered._ _  
_ _Within a moment, she was no longer No One. She was Arya. His Arya. The way he called her name--a name that she’s worked hard to disown was effortlessly reinstated._ _  
_ _And she ran to him._ _  
_ _Stayed in his arms._ _  
_ _And then she knew._ _  
  
_

“Bran--please...stop…”  
But the Raven continued.

_Daenerys was threatened with the revelation of Jon’s true parentage. He was Aegon Targaryen--her late brother Rhaegar’s legitimate heir. She was already deeply in love with this man, and she believed him without reservations when he assured her that he had no intention of claiming his birthright, and he would continue what he had pledged. His army will fight for her in the Last War. She was his Queen._ _  
_ _  
_ _No, her claim to the throne was not the threat that she feared._

_Their arrival in Winterfell was cold--both in weather and reception. Bran was eerily neutral, Sansa was outright displeased, and Arya--Arya Stark, of whom Aegon always spoke of fondness in his stories--was dauntingly, mysteriously indifferent about it all._ _  
_ _  
_ _It was a sneakily simmering madness. She was immediately very aware of how Aegon’s eyes would light up when she entered any room--and his eyes would hardly leave her, even if Daenerys herself was seated right beside him. Once during dinner, she even squeezed his leg in an impure manner as a subtle invitation for them to retire to their chambers, but he didn’t notice because he was intently listening to Arya as she told the tale about The Hound’s attempt to ransom her into The Vale. She removed her hand abruptly._

_He still didn’t notice._

_That moment left a bitter taste in her mouth._

_That very evening she recalled all the lessons she learned from her handmaidens on how to please a man and made love to him mercilessly. Though he has been a bit more hesitant since the revelation of their familial ties--he obliged her. She beamed in satisfaction upon studying his face as he slept._

_A faint smile tugged at the ends of his thin red lips and she sighed victoriously._

_Until he whispered her name under his breath. It was soft. It was endearing._ _  
_ _It was longing._ _  
_ _  
_ _It was starved._

_“Arya.” he whispered once again. “Little Sister.”_ _  
  
_

_The following morning, after they broke their fast--the last morning before the end of the long night, Daenerys formally asked for his hand in marriage in front of Ser Jorah, Tyrion, Missandei, Varys, Sansa and Greyworm._ _  
_ _  
_ _She couldn’t wait to leave Winterfell._

“Bran… I don’t have time for this.” Arya muttered as she got up. “If I can’t save him, I’ll just leave. I don’t understand why you had to send for me…”   
“If he leaves home now, his madness will begin shortly.” Bran answered. “You heard that he intends to fly out--”   
“So stop him.” she answered. “Talk to--”   
“He’s going to where he thinks you are.”   
“Why?”   
“You know why. I don’t like wasting time either.”   
She glared at him.   
“I could cut your throat right now, Bran.”   
“But you wouldn’t.”   
“When I stop him from leaving--”   
“He will ask you questions. You’ll answer them.”   
“And then what?”   
“Our fates lie on your answers.”   
Arya stayed silent. When he doesn’t say more, she queries, “What answers should I--”   
“The truth. If you want your own freedom, you will tell him the truth.”   
Arya clutched the side of her chair. “Any idea what the questions would be?”   
“You haven’t looked him in the eye since you came back. You knew he would’ve discovered you. You’ve always been so clever.”   
Arya turned to leave the room.   
“Arya?”   
She paused.   
“When he asks you the questions the truth will easily come out when you look in his eyes. The both of you have never been able to lie to each other when doing so.” 

  
With that, Arya exited the room with a different face.

  
_“You will marry a high lord and rule his castle, and your sons shall be knights, princes and lords--” Ned Stark declared to a young Arya._ _  
_ _“That’s not me.” she answered._ _  
_ _“Who are you, little wolf?” Ned asked, laughing._ _  
_ _Arya shrugged and a noise of banter beckoned them to the terrace where Jon and Robb were having a friendly spar._   
_Jon looked up at them and smiled._ _  
“Jon’s not a lord.’ she thought to herself as she rested her head on her father’s arm. _


	4. Look At Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Arya stop Jon from leaving home?

Jon reluctantly retired to his chambers after finally being convinced by his council to depart in the morning instead of immediately. Ser Davos sent some of his most trusted men up at the Inn at the Crossroads, where Needle was rumored to have been spotted to ease his mind. 

He was surprised to hear soft noises behind the curtain that served as his bathing area accompanied by unfamiliar but soothing scents of jasmine and winter roses.   
  
“Who’s there?” he called.   
  
A silhouette of a maid stood by the tub. “The bath is ready, Your Grace.” 

“I did not request a bath.” He replied warily, a bit curious about her voice. There was something deeply familiar and dear to it that he couldn’t place. 

“I was given instructions by the Master of Whisperers under your orders.” 

Jon winced. As soon as she spoke again, his heart clenched beautifully--it was difficult to describe, it was like the pain and relief of having to shed tears. She must be the maid in Bran’s solar earlier that afternoon. He realized that he’s never heard her speak until this very moment. It was odd, but he somehow needed to hear her speak once more.   
  
Silence lingered in his chambers as he studied her figure from the silhouette provided by the dim candles of his bathing area. Has he never seen her face? Her eyes? Why was he so suddenly curious about her now? He doesn’t even know her name.   
  
“I can draw the bath out if you have no need for it.” she muttered after some moments. “I’ll excuse myself…” 

“No.” Jon replied immediately. “No, please. I can use a bath.” 

  
He watched her shadow kneel once more over the tub to move the water, presumably to add some more oils and flowers as he unfastened his own coat and breeches. He was overcome with the unfamiliar feeling of familiarity, if such a thing were possible. It was the feeling of safety, comfort and warmth in a stranger’s home. He didn’t understand why. It must be the scented oils.

He slowly stepped into the curtained area dressed in nothing but a silk red robe that he uses for these baths. His eyes seeked her out immediately. Her back was turned as she gathered her bottles and dippers inside a woven basket. She wore the standard black chambermaid dress with a white apron that revealed she was a novice.   
  
She turned around without lifting her head and curtsied clumsily.   
His heart clenched once more.   
  
“I will return shortly to draw the water out, Your Grace.” she said softly. 

Jon studied her face in silence. Her face bore nothing noteworthy. From what the candles allowed him to study, she had medium blond hair messily braided on either side of her head, thin lips and a wide chin. He did not know this girl. 

But he did.  
  


“If you would excuse me.” she added, asking for dismissal. 

A moment of silence lingered once more as he tried to reconcile his sudden onslaught of curiosity. 

“No.” Jon answered as he untied his robes. 

_Do not look up._ _  
_ _Not Yet._ _  
_ _Soon._

Arya felt his gaze bore into her as her hands held both sides of the basket.

  
She swallowed as the silk robe pooled at his feet. 

“Your Grace?” she inquired, not looking up from the floor. 

It was another pause before he spoke. 

“Tell me your name.”

“I’m called Syria, Your Grace.” 

“Syria?” he repeated. She noted doubt in his voice. 

Arya nodded. “Syria Snow.”  
  
Bran was right. It was difficult to keep a mask on with Jon. For an entire week, she has scoured the castle without ever being in his sight or presence. She had every intention to make her trip unknown to him--to him, most especially. It would be so difficult to see him again--just like it was last time.   
  
When she left for her voyage--she was certain that Westeros--Jon--that Jon would be a part of her past. A beautiful, painful part of her past. She would leave him and all of it behind. She would become what she had always wanted to be. An explorer. She would start a new life, whatever that may be. 

But here she was.   
Knuckles whitened as she gripped the handles of the basket under the guise of Syria, standing awkwardly in front of her brother--no, her cousin. No, the King. King Aegon Targaryen.   
  
“Syria.” he called. 

In her reverie, she failed to notice that Jon had situated himself inside the tub quietly. 

His eyes were still fixed upon her. Even if she was lost in her thoughts, she was confident that his eyes never left her. 

“Your Grace?” she answered meekly, eyes unmoved from the floor.

“Take a seat.” he commanded.  
  


Arya swallowed once again as she placed the basket upon the floor. She sat down on a small wooden stool opposite the tub in front of Jon and held her hands together.

The silence was deafening.   
  
“Was there something you needed from me, Your Grace?” she asked softly.   
Jon didn’t answer--partially intoxicated by the warmth and calming scent of his bath and her presence.   
“How long have you been working in the Red Keep?” he asked.   
“Just last week, Your Grace.”   
“And who confirmed your employment?”   
“Lord Bran, Your Grace.” 

Jon’s heart clenched a third time.

_Bran. She called him Bran._

Jon would’ve been alarmed, because besides his own council and his family, Bran was usually called Lord Brandon by the household--just as much as he is called Aegon. 

But there was something in the way this girl fiddled with her fingers that assured his safety.

He used to know someone who did that. 

Jon washed his hair and body in silence, not taking his eyes off the girl. 

Water sloshed off the tub as he dried himself with a cloth and stepped into his robe. 

Arya moved to drain the bath again before he spoke.  
“How long have you lived in King’s Landing?” he asked again.   
“I was born here, Your--”   
“You bear the North’s bastard name.” Jon firmed. “My name.”   
Arya winced.   
She slipped.   
He made her slip.   
Seven Bloody Hells.   
She felt her power diminish as she held her fists together on her lap, still not looking at Jon. 

It can’t be.

It can’t...

  
“Look at me.” Jon commanded in a strong tone. 

Arya remained firmly seated with her eyes on the floor.   
“Look at me.”   
Arya sighed sharply, her fingers slightly numbing.

She bit her lower lip.   
His heart clenched a fourth time that evening.   
“Look at me.” he commanded softly. 

It’s time.  
Your purpose in this journey was to save him from the pain.   
Bran said if he leaves home, he will die painfully.   
Only you can stop him from leaving in the morning.   
He’ll either find you or Needle.   
Better you than Needle.   
It’s time. 

Arya fiddled with the hem of her short apron before she slowly met his gaze. 

There it was.

Grey on Grey.  
  
The only sound that kept them company was the flickering of the candlelights.

His face remained stoic--but his eyes sent a powerful message. 

Relief. _You’re alive._   
Joy. _You’re here._   
Love. _Arya._   
Pain. _You left me._   
Anger. _How could you?_

Her eyes responded truthfully;   
Sorrow. _I’ve hurt you._   
Love. _No, stop._   
Guilt. _I’m sorry._   
Fear. _If you didn’t want me then, you won’t want me now._

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the positive comments for the first three chapters of this story!  
> I was inspired to post some more of my work, even if they're not quite finished yet.  
> I do hope you would continue to forgive me for any unintended awkward phrases. 
> 
> I always thought that the eyes are the windows to the soul. They express so much more than words do.  
> Please always tell me what you think!


	5. The Song Has Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback. A conversation about dreams and alternate realities. If you squint, some D&D shade.

_“There you are! I sent for you.”_ _  
_ _Beside her, Gendry offered Jon a curt nod. “My Lord.”_ _  
_ _Arya shrugged. “I thought I could see you a bit later. The armory could use some help. The dead will soon be upon us all.” Since their reunion at Godswood and her subsequent meeting with The Dragon Queen--of whom her loving brother is obviously smitten, Arya has been actively avoiding Jon. So when Podrick came to collect her earlier that day at his request, she dismissed it passively. Instead she visited Gendry at the forge to follow up on the weapon she requested._

 _  
_ _Jon stilled. “I need to speak to you.”_ _  
_ _Arya looked up at him and studied his face._ _  
_ _He was deeply worried about something._ _  
_ _Much as she’d like to refuse him at the moment, she felt his sense of urgency about the matter._

 _“Godswood?” she asked._ _  
_ _“Crypts.” he answered._ _  
_ _  
_ _Arya nodded and turned to Gendry who was still sharpening dragonglass. “My weapon?”_ _  
_ _Gendry laughed. “I’ll get right on it. I know where to find you.”_

_\--_

_“Who else knows about this?” Arya asked some moments after Jon divulged the truth about his parentage--in front of his own mother’s statue._ _  
_ _“Sam and Bran…”_ _  
_ _“Just the ones who told you? What about Sansa?”_ _  
_ _“I wanted to tell you before anyone else.”_ _  
_ _“The Dragon Queen doesn’t know? Jon--Jon, she won’t--she wants the Iron Throne…”_ _  
_ _“Well it’s rather fortunate that I don’t want it…”_ _  
_ _“When she finds out--”_ _  
_ _“Arya.” Jon paused. “Arya, I--I’m not your brother.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arya studied him for a moment as she leaned against the wall. This was what he was afraid of? Her reaction to the news? How did he think she was going to react? Why is he so afraid?_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re my pack.” Arya whispered. “Brother, cousin, King--you’re my pack, Jon.”_ _  
_ _In two short strides he was up against her, a burnt hand cupped her cheek as he gazed down upon her eyes.  
“You meant that. I feel that you meant that. Please just tell me that it’s true.” _ _  
_ _Arya nodded. “Always. Always.”_ _  
_ _Jon pressed his lips on her brow and stayed there, relief sweeping through his veins._ _  
_ _Arya sighed simultaneously, appreciating the feeling of his chapped lips on her skin as she clasped the hand that held her jaw. “Why were you so worried?”_ _  
_ _Jon lifted his lips from her only to place both of his hands on her neck, so he could study her face a while longer. “You know--I don’t even remember.” he laughed. “Gods, how did you stay the same all this time and yet be so grown?”_ _  
_ _Arya’s smile was going to turn into laughter until Jon pressed his lips upon her brow once more._ _  
_ _Then each side of her cheek._ _  
_ _Twice over.  
_ _Thrice._ _  
_ _Raining kisses._ _  
_ _She used to do this to him whenever she felt that he was sad or rejected as a young girl to make him feel better, or to show him that she loved him._ _  
_ _It felt differently then._ _  
_ _He placed small kisses all over her face, just like she used to._ _  
_ _He then placed his lips over her own chastely._ _  
_ _It didn’t even last a second._

 _It might as well have been a lifetime._ _  
_ _Arya swallowed and stared at her feet. “Best we go tell Sansa now. So we can make plans on how to deliver this news to Your Queen.”_   
  


\--

  
She’s in front of him.   
After all these years.   
His little sister.   
His cousin  
The Nightslayer   
The Hero of Winterfell.   
His Heart.   
Arya.   
  


As soon as she met his eyes, long locks of raven hair fell upon her shoulders and her face reflected his own. 

Jon stepped back waringly, his heart thundering through his chest.  
Arya slowly stood up, her lower lip quivered but she didn’t back down from his scorching gaze.   
She unclasped her fingers and brought her hands down to her sides. She has to be brave. He will ask her difficult questions and she will have to be truthful in her responses.   
  
Where did you go?   
What did you find?   
Was I not worthy of a goodbye?   
Did you hear about my fate?   
Am I still your pack?   
Why did you leave?   
Most importantly; Why did you come back?

Arya was confident that she had courage enough to face ten more Night Kings rather than have this confrontation with Jon. 

After what felt like eternity, she finally took a small step towards him.   
He immediately drew back, breathing deeply.   
  


“It’s--it’s me.” she whispered. “It’s me.”   
  


Slowly Jon stepped forward. Like a memory from seven years past, he reached out to feel the ends of her raven locks and touched her face.   
  
Upon the first touch of their skin--the world stopped and zoned on this moment.   
  


“Jon…”   
Jon inhaled sharply as he felt life run through his veins. It was as if his dormant soul had come to life with the breath of his name upon her lips. The same voice that called him back from death. 

Arya. Arya. Arya.   
  
Arya closed her eyes when he pressed his forehead against her own, hanging on to the remaining discipline she had left in the purpose of revealing herself to him.   
  
He has to stay home. 

She has to answer his questions. 

Questions. 

He has yet to ask them.   
  
His hands were wrapped around her small frame and his eyes remained closed.   
  
“I know you have questions… I can answer them…” she whispered.   
“Questions?” Jon repeated.   
Arya nodded.   
Slowly his arms released her.   
He gazed down upon her face once more and a single thumb ran over the side of her cheek.   
She’s really here.   
It’s really her.   
  
Then he backed away.   
  
Arya opened her mouth to protest but relented when she gazed upon his eyes once again.   
They were swollen, slightly reddened, and glossed over.   
Her heart shattered.   
She hurt him.   
She really hurt him. 

“Jon…” she started. “Please…”   
“Leave the bath for the maids in the morning.” he managed.   
Then he collected a heavier cloak and quit his own chambers.   
Arya fell down on her knees, weakened. 

  
  


\--

“I dismissed Syria last evening to be with her family and you came in during the night.” Bran declared as he rolled his chair towards the window.

“What?” Arya asked. 

“I already told the small council that you arrived.” he answered. “And I didn’t want the household staff to worry about Syria’s disappearance.”   
  
Arya decided to lay on the cot close to Bran’s solar by the library when Jon left his quarters just hours before. It was quite early in the morning, and sleep hasn’t come upon her yet.   
  
How could it? Jon never returned to his chambers, not that she waited long enough to find out. Much as she wanted to leave, she knew that her business here remains unfinished. Worsened by the fact that Jon knows of her return and that she hurt him. 

“There was no need to tell the small council about Syria, I could’ve kept that mask--my business is with Jon.” 

“Your skill in changing faces have no power over the connection you have with our cousin, as I’m sure you already discovered. I don’t think you’d want your facelessness to eventually become common knowledge.” 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Do you know where he went?” 

“He will be here shortly.” Bran answered.

“Bran--I… I need to leave. I can return again in a couple of days so we can sort this out--Jon doesn’t seem amenable to talking--he didn’t ask me any questions--or a single one for that matter, like you said…” 

“You know that I fly everyday?”

Arya stilled. “I…”

“The pointy end has no use but to comfort its wielder at this time, and all is well. Jon is home and you’re on your way, the song has begun. It just needs to be sung--and all will be as it should.” 

Arya’s heart pounded in anticipation. “What do you--” 

She was stopped by the sound of the heavy wooden door. Familiar footsteps approached them by the window. Neither Arya nor Bran needed to turn around to know who it was.  
  
Arya looked up at him anyway. 

Like herself he seemed to not have slept at all. Eyes still swollen met her own rebellious ones with bitter resentment and fatigue. 

  
“You haven’t broken fast yet.” Bran declared. 

Jon nodded. “It’s early--I’m not particularly…” 

“Just some fruit, cheese and bread will do. You both need it today.” he answered. 

As soon as he spoke, the doors opened and two maids carried in two trays to set at the corner breakfast nook at the corner of the library. 

Arya managed a smile. “How did you…You know what, never mind. I am famished.”   
  
While Jon’s plate remained untouched, Arya seemed to scarf down her pieces eagerly. 

She hasn’t had anything too decent to eat since she arrived in the castle but some soggy rice porridge and leftover meat from the maid’s chambers. She tried to make herself scarce this past week. 

“It really is her, Your Grace.” Bran muttered. “She’s not going anywhere else soon.” 

Jon didn’t notice that he had been staring at her while she ate. Embarrassed, he turned his attention to his goblet.

Arya slowed down her eating. “Your Grace…”

Jon’s brows furrowed. 

“Jon…” she continued.

Jon swallowed and met her eyes, still hesitant to engage in conversation.

“I--I wanted to ask… About your nightmares.” 

Jon shot Bran a look. 

“I had them too.” Arya continued. “It stopped when I got here last week and--I know yours did too. It might have something to do with you and me, and unlike Bran, I don’t want to speak in puzzles so we could sort this out a bit faster.” 

Without looking at her, Jon scoffed. “It’s always the same nightmare.” 

“Mine too.” she answered. 

With some hesitation, Jon started. “It starts off the same way every time. Daenerys burns King’s Landing after they rang the bells--and that sound stays with me until I wake. Then I plunge a dagger in her chest and she perishes by my hand. I get banished from these lands and you--you didn’t stay with me. I had this same recurring dream while she was alive--and long after her death.” 

“You left out the part where you did this following a conversation with Arya.” Bran interjected. 

Jon’s lips formed a thin line.

“In his dream you reminded him that she’ll always see him as a threat. But he felt that as long as she lived in that reality, Daenerys would always be a threat to your own safety. I’ve seen it.” Bran declared. 

“You’ve seen this nightmare?” Jon asked incredulously. 

Bran nodded. “I have seen other endings too, Your Grace. But your nightmare, I have to say is the worst one. I don’t even like my own self in that dream and I end up to be the King.” 

Jon nodded. “Well--we can both agree on that.” 

“Arya--your nightmare ebbs from your fast feet.” Bran continued. 

Arya raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

Bran shook his head. “I think it’s time you shared yours. Even if it is irrelevant. You both should know now, that I have seen every possible ending to this story. But even in the worst one, The both of you always found each other. The song was always sung.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone who's still reading this story! Thank you for being here. The comments have been encouraging and I always look forward to reading them! The next chapter might take two days this time. But I hope you all enjoy this one.


	6. I will need it--eventually.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks;  
> Arya relieves her stress;  
> The Three Eyed Raven unveils a moment with The Winter King.

_To His Royal Highness_ _  
__Aegon VI The Prince of Dragonstone_ _  
__Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms_ _  
__My Cousin, Jon._ _  
  
_

_I can’t say that I didn’t anticipate your wrath upon receiving my raven, bearing the news of your favorite sister’s departure. The note you sent was strongly worded, offensive and downright mean--but it was fair._ _  
__  
__I only hope that you would take into consideration that my approval of her voyage wouldn’t have mattered. It’s Arya. She would have left anyway._ _  
__  
__As The Queen In the North, I have to implore you to consider that I have generously granted to extend my only remaining brother’s stay in King’s Landing at your request prior to this, despite the heartbreaking history that our family endured there--all for goodwill and peace between our kingdoms._ _  
__  
__But as your cousin and once sister; I humbly ask for your acceptance of my sympathy. It teared my own heart to be parted from her so soon despite only being reunited--I imagine it is worse for you. But like yourself, I will always be hopeful for her return. Please find it in your heart to forgive me; Yourself, Bran and I are the only ones who remain in the known world._ _  
__  
__My warmest regards to you and Queen Daenerys._ _  
__Long may you both reign the six._ _  
__  
__Sansa Stark_ _  
__The Queen In the North_

_‘Find it in my heart--what heart? My heart set sail across the unknown sea.’ Jon pondered to himself as placed down the parchment and placed his hand upon the scars on his chest._ _  
__  
__Wherever you go, I’m right there with you._ _  
__Where have you taken me?_

_  
__“Aegon…” Daenerys called, disrupting his thoughts. “Are you reading the same scroll over?”_ _  
__Jon turned his attention to his new bride who lay naked in their bed sideways._ _  
__Daenerys’ long silver hair was pulled back behind her frame, revealing her full soft bosoms that called out to him. Her legs were demurely closed but was sticky with his own seed--since their wedding, her next hasty venture seems to be her determination to get withchild--and on this particular day, he’s already spilled inside of her womb six times. Yet with the tone of her voice, she doesn’t seem to be sated just yet._

_“I don’t understand why she--”_ _  
_ _“Why she left? I know, you brought it up many times. It won’t change that she’s gone, my love. Your sister has the will of a lone wolf, and nothing could’ve changed her mind. She’s a strong, formidable warrior--I am confident that her venture will be successful. She belongs to the adventurous life that she’s determined to have. ” Daenerys firmed._ _  
_ _  
_ _Jon paused as her sat back in his chair and stared into space. "She belongs with her pack."_ _  
__  
__Not to be deterred, Daenerys slowly got up from their bed and alluringly waltzed towards him. With all the grace allowed of a submissive Queen, she knelt before Jon and slowly undid his trousers. She may be the Sovereign, but in the bedroom--she makes sure that Jon would feel that he’s the King. Her King._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Dany…” he groaned, pushing loose locks of her hair from her face. “Dany--we are supposed to dine with Bran soon.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She watched as his cock hardened in her soft hands, his member greeted her proudly as it rested strongly upon his navel._

_Daenerys widened her moist tongue to lick from the bottom of his shaft before she stretched her own full demure mouth to capacity in order to accommodate his impressive size._ _  
__  
__Truth be told, she had a dislike for having a man’s cock this way. Her beloved first husband, Khal Drogo, used to release into her mouth every morning when they were first wed, and she thought it to be dirty. Before wake would even come upon her eyes, she would be awakened by the shape of his member on her cheek. His cock would seek passage inside her sealed lips, into her reluctant mouth, forcing it to widen, demanding release. He would fuck her mouth relentlessly and as deeply as his muscular hips would allow, in the presence of her waiting maids; who were prepared to bathe her as soon as he's done pleasuring himself with all of her orifices._

_Upon his release, Drogo would command her to swallow his seed as he softened on top of her tongue, though some residue would fall upon her chin and onto her bare chest. He would gently pry her mouth open with his fingers to ensure that she took in every single drop before she got bent over like a mare, to be had maybe twice more in the cunt, as well as some fingers inside her ass before he would depart for the day._ _  
__  
__Though she eventually loved him for true, and learned to be pleasured in coupling as well--the act was a harsh reminder of her former naivete._

_  
__But with Aegon, who never asked for this; her purpose was different.  
_ _She lusted for this man.  
_ _Her husband. The Prince of Dragonstone.  
_ _She lusted for his body,  
_ _For his care,  
_ _For his attention,  
_ _For his touch--  
_ _And most of all;  
_ _She lusted for his love of Her._

_Bitterly._

_She mercilessly sucked on him and swallowed his release eagerly when he spilled._ _  
__She had to get Arya Stark out of his mind and into the unknown sea where she belonged._

\--

“Yield! I Yield!’ Podrick declared with half a laugh.  
Arya drew the wooden sword away from his neck with a smirk. It has been three days since she last spoke to Jon, he has been occupied with concerns of the realm. Sansa had finally written, requesting for her presence in Winterfell as soon as she’s able, and Bran still spoke in riddles--he said many words, in so many ways, but they always said the same thing.  
  
The only matter that he spoke directly about was the welfare of Needle--and for that she was grateful. It might not be enough for very long, however.  
  
The tension between her and Jon had become so unbearable. They dined together, but besides communicating with glances and conversations that Bran initiated the words left unsaid were beginning to consume her being.  
  


‘Why won’t you just ask me the questions? I’d have to tell you the truth anyway--I have no choice apparently. Ask me, I’ll tell you and I’ll be on my way.’ she thought each time. 

  
So she sought the practice yard as soon as she woke and Ser Podrick was willing to oblige the only way she knew how to relieve her stress; sword fighting. 

“Another round?” Arya ventured.  
Podrick sighed, seemingly out of breath. “Lady Stark--you’ve won each match since we started this afternoon. I would oblige you but I’m being made into a dummy here.”  
Arya laughed. “I’ll grant you a break if you can avoid calling me that.”  
Podrick nodded. “Very well.”  
Arya tossed the stick into the metal bin. “I’d practice by myself but there are far too many people here to concentrate. If we were in Winterfell, I’d have seeked solace in the Godswood.” 

“We have Godswood within the walls my la--”  
Arya raised an eyebrow.  
“Sorry.” Podrick coughed. “It was rebuilt by His Grace shortly after the war, and we even managed a weirwood tree from Winterfell to complete it.”  
Arya’s eyes lit up. This is just what she needed to relieve her stress.  
“Tell me where it is.” 

  
\--  
  
Arya took a medium sized blade from the armory and meditated in the center of the Godswood.  
She started to dance--wielding the unfamiliar sword in her hand, trying to be one with it.  
  
You have no name.  
Neither did I, once upon a time.  
I had to lose it to stay alive.  
I was a shadow.  
I was a wraith.  
I was no one.  
I was justice.  
  
He called me back by my old name;  
In these same woods, under the same face.  
And I was born.  
I was held.  
I was alive.  
And then I felt.  
It was new.  
It was love.  
Then it was pain. 

Arya’s eyes remained closed, her hands were steady, her feet swiftly moved. She only used the sense to smell, hear and feel in order to know her place within the trees.

Our hearts were one; then it was none.  
Snowfall displaced by a dragon’s breath.  
Then I sailed to let him go  
But in his ghost my heart remained;  
Back in the smile that was my home;  
A wanderer held prisoner by who she loved most. 

Arya sensed a tree on her heel and sprung forward gracefully, not disturbing the branch above her head. Tears began to form under her closed lids as her senses continued to guide the relief of her heart’s long buried burdens. 

\--

“She’s not here.” Bran declared as soon as he shut the wooden door behind him. “But you will find her soon enough. Your feet will guide you to her.”  
  


Jon’s brows furrowed. “That’s a rare miss. I wasn’t looking for her.”  
  


“Not yet.” Bran smiled. “You came here to talk to me about her, though.”  
  


Jon managed a nod. “I--I can’t say that I’d prefer my recurring nightmare over her presence here, Bran--but... Having her in front of me, yet not quite reaching her seems--”  
  


“Like a living nightmare on its own. For years you’ve tortured yourself about why she left you--and now that she’s returned--you can’t ask her this question.” Bran smirked. “Because that’s not really what you want to ask her, is it?”  
  


Jon took the velvet seat in front of the hearth that warmed Bran’s solar and placed his head on his palms. “I have so many questions for her, but it doesn’t seem like her answers would matter for any of them. I want her here. I want her with me--I know that much.”  
  
“Not nearly enough.” Bran rolled his chair towards him and gazed intently.  
  
“I think it’s time that we began this part of the song.” Bran whispered, his eyes forming grey.  
  
Jon looked at him, seemingly worried. “What part of the song?”  
  
“It’s time for you to know something.” 

\--  
  
 _Arya’s face remained stoic as she approached Bran in their father’s old office in Winterfell. She had Needle sheathed on her belt, dressed in black leather, scars on her brow and jaw fresh from the Great War of King’s Landing._ _  
  
_

_New maids were packing his belongings for his journey down south in his solar so he seeked privacy here, knowing that Arya would find him shortly._

_  
__“I will send him your well wishes.” Bran muttered, not turning to face her, choosing instead to gaze upon the castle grounds by the floor length window. “But you know it won’t be enough.”_ _  
__  
__Arya nodded. “You know that I’m leaving, then.”_ _  
  
_

_“I know just about everything. But it doesn’t take a Three Eyed Raven to know that once Sansa’s missive about your departure reaches him, his heart will stop.”_ _  
__  
__“Not in the way that it did when he saw you again, either.”_ _  
  
_

_Arya’s face remained stoic. “I advised Sansa to send the raven days after the wedding. By which time, I’m sure he’d be too deep in marital bliss to give it as much care. We’ve been apart for years, Bran. I’m confident that he’ll be fine.”_ _  
__  
__Bran turned his chair to face her. “Are you trying to convince me, or you?”_ _  
__  
__Arya grimaced and fought the urge to bite her lower lip._ _  
__  
__“I can’t unmask you. I don’t have that power. But in order for me to do what you’re about to ask me to do for you--Arya, you can’t wear a mask in front of me.”_ _  
__  
__Arya’s lower lip quivered._ _  
__  
__She never cried. Only Jon had ever seen her actual tears as a child, he was the only one that could see her like this. But she needed the strength to leave--and only Bran can help her._ _  
__  
__Slowly, tears started to fall upon her face and she knelt in front of the Three Eyed Raven._ _  
__  
__“Please take it away. Take the memories of him away. I can’t take them with me when I leave, or it will be all for nothing.” she sobbed softly as Bran watched her figure shake._ _  
__  
__“When did you realize that you loved him?” Bran asked._ _  
__  
__“I think--I have always loved him.” she answered. “Not like a sister loves a brother--but like--like this.” she continued. “I was too young when we were last together to understand what my feelings were and now I can’t bear to be near him without my heart breaking.”_ _  
  
_

_“And you never thought to tell him?”_ _  
__  
__Arya sobbed louder. “Why would I put him in that position? He’s our brother, as far as he’s concerned--Targaryen or not. His love for me is simply that, and I tried to accept it. But he doesn’t know--he can never know…”_ _  
__  
__Heart breaking in her chest and in between difficult breaths, she continued; “That it was the memory of his smile that kept me alive for all these years. I was certain that no matter what I’d become--even if Mother and all of you rejected me for being No One--that he will want me. Jon will want me, even if no one else does.”_ _  
__  
__“He won’t want me like this; loving him impurely. He wants the little sister who went to King’s Landing. I am not that girl anymore, I am not that girl anymore. She’s long gone.”_ _  
__  
__“Why would I burden him with my sentiments when he’s happily betrothed to a Queen? Not any boring Queen with songs of love and maiden beauty--but a conqueror, a savior--the mother of beautiful beasts and she’s devoted and enamored with him as I am? Daenerys is his perfect counterpart, their match is perfect, and I know that she loves him.”_ _  
__  
__“Loves him so much that she bribed you with the North?” Bran continued._ _  
__  
__Arya looked up from his lap, face wet with tears. “Of course you knew…”_ _  
__  
__“That she gave up the Northern Kingdom, as well as commission your journey into the unknown sea as long as you vowed on your Stark honor that you would venture on?” Bran smirked. “Sansa owes you a great deal. She thought she secured The North peacefully and on her own.”_ _  
__  
__“Daenerys is the Queen that Jon deserves, Bran. But I need--I need the strength to leave. You already know what I came here to ask of you--please…”_ _  
__  
__Bran placed his hand on her cheek. “I cannot take the memories away Arya. I’m a keeper--”_

_  
__Arya frowned. “Why did you bloody make me spill my heart out if you couldn’t help me? That is horribly cruel.”_ _  
__  
__Bran’s eyes lit up. “I’m going to need it, eventually.”_ _  
__  
__“I can’t take the memories away but I can still give you the strength you need. You just need to trust me. Do you trust me?”_ _  
__  
__Arya nodded. “Yes.”_  
 _  
“Shortly after you depart, and on the waters unknown, you will encounter an adventure not expected, and it will fill you. It will make you forget long enough until the time for you to come home beckons--so the song can begin.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> My goal is to post Chapter VII by tomorrow. I'm just quite nervous about it.  
> In this chapter, which features heavy flashbacks, I wanted to give you guys a background of Arya's realization of her feelings for Jon. 
> 
> From what I understand, Arya/Jon are pretty much endgame in GRRM's original plotline! It was interesting to discover that. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my new friend, Emilie--I hope you feel better soon! 
> 
> I'd also like to give a shoutout to one of my most encouraging readers, JSkitn! I promise you Bran's yoda-ish prophesies will wrap everything up full circle by the end. 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe during these dark times. Once you tell me your thoughts about this chapter, could you share what hobbies/activities you've occupied yourself with besides reading beautiful works here? I could use a breather!
> 
> Much love! 
> 
> Mischa Zamo.


	7. Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya share a dance;   
> The Winter King asks his question.

How did he not see it before?    
Ygritte was right. He knew nothing.   
He never thought to punish himself for the ignorance in which he was mocked.

Until this very moment. 

She loves me.   
She loves me; that’s why she left.    
If I had known--what would’ve happened if I had known? 

Do I love her as she loves me?    
  


True to Bran’s word, his feet did indeed take him to her location faster than he could quell the onslaught of thoughts that swirled in his mind.    
  
Hidden behind sacred trees, he watched in awe as she moved gracefully with her eyes closed, skillfully avoiding unearthed roots and vines as she danced, not so much disrupting fallen leaves in order to keep the silence.    
  
Loving you is as natural to me as breathing.   
It is my entire being, the lifeblood of my existence.    
Do I love her as she loves me?    
Why is this even a question?

Jon unveiled Longclaw from its sheath and waited for the perfect opportunity to clash with Arya’s sword, which he felt was a bit too dull to suit her.   
  
Arya’s eyes flew open the moment their swords clanged, meeting his eyes in private for the first time since she unmasked in front of him days past, dressed as a chambermaid and himself unclothed besides the silk robe.    
  
Now they were both dressed like the warriors that they were--her in black leather embroidered with a silver direwolf and himself in a silver breastplate that bore a direwolf with dragon wings. 

Arya nodded to accept his challenge and stepped back to grant him space before she positioned herself efficiently.    
  
Jon let her lead the dance, and he matched her beat per beat, their eyes never taking leave of each other. Where her movements were swift, his were steady and strong. He kept one hand on his side as she attempted to get him to dance to her rhythm. He realized that she was trying to exhaust him.    
  
He might just let her. 

He backed her into a tree and prepared to deliver a final blow when she sprang sideways at the last second, rolled artistically away from defeat with a victorious cry escaping her lips.    
  
Amused, Jon felt a strange tug at the corner of his lips.    
  
He smiled.    
  
He was smiling.

He was smiling at her.    
  
It’s been a long while since he managed this simple reaction for true--and she was able to elicit this from him.    
  
Arya’s eyes watered in awe as he looked down at her with tremendous pride.    
  
So distracted by his smile, Arya barely noticed when he disarmed her.

She aimed for the dagger’s hilt on her belt, but Jon managed to upstand her within half a second, using the ankle of his boot to topple her.    
  
Jon released Longclaw from his grasp and held Arya’s hands to her sides with both hands as she lay on the grass, panting heavily.   
  
Arya’s breath slowed as his torso slightly pressed against her own. Their eyes still locked, both taking deep breaths, they gazed upon each other’s eyes.    
  
“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

  
Jon said nothing, but slackened his grip on her wrists, not once leaving her eyes. 

“I wasn’t there when you lost your wife and child, I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt. I understand now why my decision to pursue my dream of adventure could be selfish. You would’ve gotten to me in a heartbeat if you could, when we lost father--when we lost everyone--hells, even when I just needed you.” she continued. “If you’d been able, you would’ve been there for me, undoubtedly. You would’ve mussed my hair--and called me little sister. But I had a choice to stay, to stay with you at King’s Landing to support your new life--but instead I chose to follow my selfish dreams instead. Please forgive me.” 

Jon said nothing, but instead lowered himself further, completely released her wrists, and pinned her down with his body.   
  
Arya bit her lower lip as she tried to brush their proximity away from her senses.    
  


“Arya…” Jon whispered.    
  


Arya gazed at him expectedly.   
  


“Yield.” he commanded.    
  


Arya let out a relieved giggle and shoved his shoulder. “Never!”   
  


Jon grinned and didn’t let up--stifling nervous laughter himself.    
  


“I’ll yield if you forgive me.” she proposed after moments of struggling.   
  


Jon shook his head knowingly.   
  


“You don’t forgive me?” Arya asked, feigning a pout.   
  


Arya’s breath hitched when he lowered his face upon hers to place a kiss on her cheek.    
  


‘Gods, please don’t let this rain on me now. I can’t handle it, please… I can’t handle it.’

“Yield.” he whispered close to her ear.   
  


His breath was hot on her, and although his lips barely touched her skin when he spoke a single word, it sent a million sensations to her belly, and she winced in order to handle the emotions that it brought out of her. 

‘Fuck.’ she thought. ‘I thought I couldn’t handle his chaste kisses but now I don’t know which poison is worse.’ 

  
Jon continued to breathe upon her ear, the scruff of his beard tickling her cheek. 

‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.’ 

“Yield!” she muttered finally. “I yield.” she repeated.    
  
Jon remained unmoved, only lifting his face from the curve of her neck to place his lips on her jaw, and a cautious one on the corner of her mouth.

Arya’s breath stilled. “Jon… I--”    


Jon’s mouth gently descended upon hers and their lips touched intimately.   
  
Longer than a second.    
  
A lifetime has passed.    
  
Definitely not a brother’s kiss.    
  
But she won’t allow herself to believe otherwise.    
  
Jon lifted himself to meet her eyes and awaited her expression.    
  


“Another round, perhaps? Allow me to win my pride back...” Arya motioned as she attempted to get up.   
  
Jon’s brows furrowed and pressed himself harder against her, Arya whimpered.    


  
“Arya…”

She raised an eyebrow.   
  
“Yield.” he commanded, his voice now low.    
  
“I did yield, stupid!” she protested.    
  
“Yield completely. Yield to the song that must be sung. Yield to me.”    


Arya’s breath stilled in confusion.  
  
“Yield to us.” he commanded finally.    
  
“Jon--please…”    
  
Jon captured whatever plea Arya wanted to invoke with a softly impassioned kiss that left her no doubt of his feelings.    
  
He lifted her off the grass and into his hands to sit as his lips massaged hers, before slowly inserting his own tongue inside her mouth to wrap it completely.    
  
They were no strangers to this act of intimacy, yet only with each other did some magical melody enrapture both their beings as they explored one another--eyes closed, not running out of breaths.    
  


Do I love her as she loves me?    
What a stupid question.    
  


_ “The question in your heart will reveal itself as soon as you discover your home and why you need to stay there. It is the only question that you truly need an answer for. Ask her.” Bran advised him before he quit his solar. “Ask her.”  _   
  
Do you really love me?   
Of course she does--she does, she does.   
What did you find in the unknown? Did you miss me as I missed you?   
It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You’re with me and I’m home.

  
Home.   
I’m at home. 

Jon unlatched himself from her lips and pressed his forehead to hers, allowing them to catch their breaths as their arms locked in a soft embrace.   
  
“Home. We’re home.” Jon whispered.    
Arya hummed, still surprised by the last few minutes.   
“Bran--he said that in order to stop this madness, I had to stay home. It all makes sense.” he paused to collect himself and sought her eyes.   


Grey on Grey.

“I didn’t understand--it took me so long.” he muttered, taking her hand in his. “Home is the light in my darkness, the calm in my storm, the life in my death.”    
  
“You’re my home, Arya. You were a determined ray of light in my dark youth as a bastard in Winterfell, the tranquil calm in my heart when my parentage was discovered and we faced the long night, and the life that brought me back from death by my sworn brother’s knives.”    
  
He brushed a lone tear that fell on her cheek and placed her loose hand on his chest. “My heart tells me that you mirror my feelings--you just realized it faster than I did, so we parted once again. I likely won’t grant myself forgiveness for that, but I’ll remain hopeful for yours nonetheless.” 

_“Ask her.”_  
  
The only question that mattered finally formed in his heart like a completed thousand piece puzzle before his very eyes.   
  
Bran was right. 

  
Everything else didn’t matter but this.

_ “Ask her.”  _   
  


“Arya--will you stay with me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a public service announcement: Please do not prosecute me for this short chapter!  
> I intended for this to be a part of CH 6 but it didn't seem to fit.   
> Please always tell me what you think! I will have the next chapter out in two days--we will be celebrating Mother's Day here and I don't want to rush it!


	8. A Mere Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Three Eyed Raven takes a different kind of flight with The Winter King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might lose some of you because of this chapter.

_  
You’ve never been free._

  
“Will you stay with me?”  
  
Arya thought she had prepared herself for all the questions he could possibly ask.

She was wrong.

It broke her heart to see the hopeful glimmer in his gaze as he clasped her hand across his chest tightly, eyes speaking the love that his lips needn’t utter.  
  
 _If you didn’t want me then, you won’t want me now._ _  
_

You definitely won’t want me now.  
  
Arya avoided his gaze by slowly lowering her eyes to the ground, not moving the remaining hold of their palms.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, lifting her chin to seek her gaze once again.  
  
When her eyes lifted to meet his, they had a different tone.  
  
She was no longer wary about her feelings for him.  
  
She was devastated that he returned them.

“Arya, tell me what’s wrong. Do you not love me?”  
  
“I do.” she answered truthfully.  
  
“Do you not want to stay with me?”  
  
“I do…” her eyes glossed over. “Jon, I really do.”  
  
Jon laughed softly. “Then what’s wrong?”  
  
Arya’s heart broke upon seeing his smile again. She traced his curved lips with her free hand, making a memory that she would have to take with her when she eventually departs, hoping it would be enough to carry her through the rest of her life before unclasping their hands. 

“I can’t.” she said simply with a devastated sob before she got up and ran to disappear between the trees.

\--

_He’ll either find you or Needle.  
_ _Better you than Needle._

“I don’t understand, Bran!” Jon exclaimed. “She left!”

“She’s just making her way back home.” Bran answered calmly.

“Our home is with each other, you said this yourself.”

“That’s right.” Bran shrugged.

Jon growled in frustration as he downed another goblet of rum.  
  
“Bran…”

“Your Grace.”

“Don’t be smart with me.”

“I can’t help that.”

“I just need you to tell me--I have to understand what's going on. Isn’t this the song? Isn’t this why our nightmares stopped, because we’re both finally at home? Bran, where did she go?”  
  
“She’s almost home.” Bran answered.  
  
“But you just said that she’s left King’s Landing, where I obviously stand?”

“That is correct.” Bran answered. 

“THIS IS ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS! WILL YOU JUST TELL ME--”

“Come in.” Bran motioned to the door, where Sam’s wife Gilly stood nervously with their eldest child, Samwell at her hand. 

Jon ceased his impatience immediately, choosing instead to take another full goblet to stand near the fire. “Gilly, Samwell.” 

“Your Grace,” she started. “I’m sorry to intrude but I was told that Lord Brandon sent for the both of us urgently…”

“I did.” Bran replied softly. “Did you do what I asked for?” 

Gilly nodded. “It’s as you asked--but…”

“Samwell, could you roll the tea cart closer to the fire by His Grace? Add more logs while you’re at it. I have to fly a different way tonight.” 

The boy excitedly did what he was told. “Could you teach me how to fly, Lord Brandon?” he asked as he carefully placed more logs by the fire. “Little Jon wants to be a warrior like His Grace when he grows up, but I want to be more like my father, A Grand Maester!” he beamed proudly. “Yet much better--I want to be a flying Grand Maester!”  


Jon studied the boy and managed a curt nod. Watching Samwell and Jon grow up inside the castle walls has given him much comfort over the emptiest years of his life. The great admiration and love that little Samwell held for his adoptive father left little doubt of their deep familial bond. 

He lifted his eyes to find Bran smiling at him knowingly.  
  
“What?” Jon asked, annoyed.  
  
“Thank you, Gilly.” Bran muttered as he poured himself a cup of tea. “I have no doubt that you will fulfill your destiny,Young Sam. But I’m afraid I can’t teach you how to fly tonight. His Grace and I will be very busy. We are not to be disturbed for the next half hour under the strictest orders.”  
  
“I’m leaving for the North shortly, Bran.” Jon answered. “The next westward ship will sail from Bear Island and is due in--”  
  


“Less than three weeks.” Bran finished as he nodded off to their other companions so they could take their leave. “You will head North, but not quite North, so you can finally assure her that you want her home. All of her.” he motioned for Jon to take a seat by the fire and rolled his chair towards him.  
  


Though he was deeply frustrated, enraged and heartbroken--Jon angrily complied. It was no use to hope for a direct answer from Bran, but he knew that if he had any hope for finding Arya, he had to solve the puzzle which is his brother, The Three Eyed Raven.

It would make it bloody easier if he just told him what to do, though.  
  
“Take my hand.” Bran instructed.  
  
Jon looked at him, puzzled. “I never had to take your hand in order for you to show me a memory…”  
  
“I’m not showing you a memory tonight, Your Grace. In order for me to fly in the present with another, I have to hold them to me.”  
  
“You will show me where she is?” Jon asked, apprehensive but hopeful.

“No.” Bran answered.  
  
Jon scowled. “Then what is this for? I need to find her before she gets further away, Bran. Just tell me where she is.”  
  
“I can’t.” Bran replied, his voice firm.

Jon’s heart twinged with the memory of those two words.

“But I do need to take you somewhere. When I take you, keep in mind that no one can see or hear us. We cannot physically touch anything, nor sit anywhere. Nor can we stay too long, or you’ll be late for your part in this song.”  
  
Jon remained silent but offered him his hand.  
  
Bran extended his arm and clasped Jon’s palm. “If you look at something long enough, a story will reveal itself. Sometimes a mere second will do. It won’t take you very long at all to decide that none of it matters as long as the question is answered in the tune in which it's supposed to be played.” 

\--

_The pointy end has no use but to comfort its wielder at this time, and all is well._

Jon blinked once and painlessly found himself in the middle of a familiar marketplace in The Kingsroad, surrounded by scurrying tradesmen and locals. He instinctively turned to find Bran beside him, standing tall, dressed in black leather armor that boasted a Three Eyed Raven sigil at the chest.  
  
“I can’t say I miss it all that much. But it’s nice to walk sometimes.” Bran muttered. “Let’s go this way.”  
  
True to his word, the townspeople didn’t seem to feel their presence amongst them, unbothered as they haggled with shopkeepers and tended to their wheelcarts. Jon wondered how they haven’t walked through anyone or anything just yet.  
  
“No, we can’t travel through physical objects.” Bran sighed, unsurprisingly reading his thoughts. “People never realize that they have the innate ability to sense overlapping moments such as this naturally. The world is not so simple. You needn’t worry about running into anyone. Just don’t do it intentionally and we would leave everything undisturbed.”  
  
“Bran--I have to say… This is quite an experience. You’re even taller than I am.” remarked Jon, trying to lighten the mood as he followed Bran’s footsteps towards the popular ‘Inn at the Crossroads.’ 

“This was where Arya was spotted before--before she came back to me.” Jon noted. “Bran--is this where she went? What is she doing here?”  
  
Bran said nothing, but in a moment, a scurrying patter of familiar feet caught his attention as they approached the outdoor back area of the inn, where small wooden practice targets and straw dummies were surrounded by barrels of ale.  
  
She had her back turned to him, but her feet’s movements were unmistakable as she practiced on a dummy with a familiar sword, as fittingly skinny as herself. She wore a simple white tunic, well fitted brown trousers, her charcoal hair tied up in a messy ponytail. 

“Arya.” Jon whispered as he clutched his chest. “Bran--what… You said this was the present--how is she-”  
  
It must be a memory, Jon thought. He was looking at Arya as a child, can’t be more than six or seven years old. Was she this skilled at seven?  
  
“Did you take us to the right place?” Jon questioned The Raven, who didn’t take his eyes off the subject and didn’t bother to respond.  
  
“Edren!” A young man’s voice bellowed from inside the inn. “You’ve got to eat. Your mum is on the way back to you, and I won’t have her say that I didn’t take good care of you now did I?”  
  
“Just a bit more!” the child answered, voice a lot lower than he remembered, with an unrecognizable accent. “Besides, she’d want to see that I practiced as well as I could while she was away, instead of drowning myself in wolf bread and kidney pies.” 

Jon’s curiosity was piqued. He slowly approached the child and confirmed that he was a boy. A beautiful boy with Arya’s facial features and skin color. A boy that he’s never seen before but he was somewhat drawn to.  
  
He was called Edren, and in his hand he held the sword that Jon gave Arya so she wouldn’t forget about him, before they parted for the first time in Winterfell many years ago.

Needle.  
  
“Why does he have Needle?” Jon called out to Bran, who walked closer to the pair with a knowing look on his face.

“It only takes a mere second, Jon.” he whispered.

At the very same moment, the boy shifted, seemingly sensitive to their presence, which daunted Jon a bit so he stepped back.  
  
Bran turned to face the backdoor of the Inn where a stout young man appeared, trying very hard to be stern. “Edren, the family is settled down for a meal now--come on, there’ll be plenty of time to practice with Needle before your mum arrives. Two more days, I’m guessing.”  
  
“Hold on a second, Hot Pie… I’ll be there in a moment.” Edren whispered as he continued to study his surroundings. He slowly placed the sword back in its sheath as a calming chill of familiarity cuddled his senses, but curious as a cat, he instinctively took a step forward to where Jon stood. 

“What’s wrong, Ed?” asked Hot Pie, curious. “Are you alright?”  
  
Edren looked up, sensing something, but not quite seeing what he was supposed to see, just the moon peeking through the clouds, preparing to turn day into night.  
  
A mere second.  
A story will reveal itself.  
  
Jon fought the urge to touch the boy’s face, who now stood directly in front of him as their gazes became seemingly locked in overlapping moments.

And there it was.

Stark Grey on Baratheon Blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH!  
> I had to publish this one on the fly because someone discovered the twist that was not that well hidden.  
> I just want to say, I understand if some of you are a bit disappointed; but this was always the story that I was going to write.  
> I'm hoping that you'll all stay and finish this journey with me--I have about 3 chapters left to write for this one; with a new chapter coming out as soon as tomorow before I release a modern-day Jonrya and a Jaimrya one-shot. 
> 
> I always want to know what you think--even if you didn't like something. Keep it constructive and we'll all get along just fine. 
> 
> Chapter dedicated to: mysticalmuddle, one of my new favorite writers in the Jonrya ship!


	9. Whatever Different Road You Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revisiting a fateful evening before The Long Night  
> Arya's Return to Westeros  
> A Confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the revelation in the last chapter, we have to revisit a Gendrya flashback, and it will be on the first part of this lengthy chapter, if you wish to skip it! (I hope you won't though.)

**_Thank you, Bull._ **

_“I didn’t keep count!” Gendry answered defensively, caught off guard by Arya’s boldness about the subject._ _  
_ _“Yes you did.” She responded confidently, enjoying the torn look upon his face._

_  
_ _Gendry came around her at the perfect time, it seems. Arya’s feelings were a mess upon the announcement of Jon and Daenerys’ engagement._ _  
_ _She gave it her best shot._ _  
_ _She wore her best mask when she congratulated them._ _  
_ _But Jon’s eyebrows furrowed with worry instead of delight when he studied her features.  
_ _How can he see her?  
_ _Before he could broach the subject, she made herself disappear in the crowd and hid in her room where Gendry found her._

_  
_ _‘I will perish in this war, though not before my list is completed.’ she thought. ‘I want to experience the act of love before I do.’_

_Gendry._ _  
_ _Sweet Gendry._ _  
_ _Sweet, bullheaded, traitor Gendry who left her for the brotherhood despite offering to be his family._ _  
_ _The Gendry who became her friend, confidant, and protector for a time._ _  
_ _The handsome smith whose gaze upon her evolved when they reunited, lighting a want in her soul that she wanted to satisfy before she met her fate._

_  
_ _Brazen and unafraid to face the future she wrote for herself, Arya showed him her intentions as she spread herself on top of him, naked as her name day, kissing him with haste as if the dead were right outside the door._ _  
_ _  
_ _Arya hissed when her maidenhood was breached, and his strong palms held her still. “Arya…” he groaned. “Don’t--if it hurts, it’s not supposed to…”_ _  
_ _“No.” she answered sternly, and attempted to slide herself up on his cock again. “It’s--it’s alright. The first time isn’t supposed to--”_ _  
_ _For the first time that evening, Gendry took control and reversed their positions without taking himself off her tightness._ _  
_ _Arya felt a trickle of blood graze her thigh and she protested. “Gendry, let me. I was the one who asked for this. I can--I can…”_ _  
_ _Gendry hushed her by kissing her softly until words left her thoughts. She attempted to quicken the pace again but his hands held her face gently until she submitted to his rhythm._ _  
_ _“Slowly, see?” He whispered as his hips started to buck between her legs in soft strokes. “It’s alright, Arry. Just tell me if it hurts, and we’ll stop.”_ _  
_ _It happened fast, but Gendry’s mouth on her own provided the best kind of comfort, and for some moments there was no longer any pain when he spent generously inside of her. She may not have fallen asleep in his arms, like most brides in songs--but she clasped his hand under the blanket when he dozed off as she was deep in thought._ _  
_ _And he held her back firmly._ _  
_ _  
_ _Then the dead came._ _  
_ _And she ended The Long Night._ _  
_ _‘Not today.’ she said. ‘Not until I complete my list.’ when she survived._

_“Be the Lady of Storms End…” He asked on one knee._ _  
_ _‘Lady?’ she thought. ‘That’s not me.’_ _  
_ _‘Jon’s not a Lord.’ The sweet memory bittered in her mind._ _  
_ _She broke half her own heart when she refused him and vowed to avenge the ache she inflicted by dying gloriously after slitting Cersei’s throat after they storm the Red Keep._ _  
_ _  
_ _But no._ _  
_ _She can’t._ _  
_ _Because even if she didn’t belong to him, Arya knew in her heart that she loved Gendry. She loved him when they were friends, and she loved him now._ _  
_ _He deserved better than her refusal alone._ _  
_ _Fear cuts deeper than swords._

_“I’m leaving with The Hound.” Arya declared when he finally entered the privacy of the Forge as Winterfell’s army readied themselves to sack the Red Keep. “We’re leaving earlier than the rest.”_

_  
_ _Gendry stared at her, downtrodden. “Aye.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Gendry--I…”_ _  
  
_

_“Don’t.” he responded, voice shaky. “Arry--it was stupid. I--I was so happy when she made me a Lord, we both survived The Long Night, and we shared--something I’ll never forget so… I arrogantly thought I’d further my luck, I guess.”_

_  
_ _Arya shook her head. “Well, looks like luck favored you after all. You’re not going to be stuck with me for the rest of your lording life.” she smiled._ _  
  
_

_Gendry feigned a smile in return and turned away. “If we even get to that point. The Queen has to win this war still. Just came to say goodbye then?”_ _  
  
_

_Arya nodded. “Yes, and I also needed to tell you…”_ _  
  
_

_Arya stood up to face him. He did bring out the wolf in her. She wasn’t afraid of him or his reactions. They had respect enough for each other to be completely transparent._ _  
  
_

_“I love you too.” she declared._ _  
  
_

_Gendry’s face turned from uncertain to resentful. “What?”_ _  
  
_

_“I didn’t get to tell you last night--”_ _  
  
_

_“So you’re telling me this now, and also saying goodbye? Why? Fuck, Arya--do you realize how cruel this is? You said no! You said no to being with me.”_ _  
  
_

_“I did.” she answered._ _  
  
_

_“And now you’re telling me that you love me? What do you want from me? Does it give you sick pleasure to further inflict pain on my pride and my heart? I tore it out of my bastard chest to give you and you refused it. I don’t like it one bit, but I’m trying to respect--”_

_  
_ _Arya gathered her strength and rose up to clash her mouth on his own fiercely, swallowing his protests._ _  
  
_

_Gendry attempted to back away, but soft as she was compared to his given brawn--she was able to halt him._

_“It doesn’t change the fact that I do love you, I have--and I do. But I’ve never been a Lady--”_ _  
  
_

_“Then don’t be! I told you that it will be for nothing if--”_ _  
  
_

_“I cannot let you abandon this for your love of me--knowing in full that my own road leads differently from the path you were so willing to take. I will never regret last night, Gendry. I won’t regret that I asked you to show me love, and take my maidenhead. I won’t regret being yours for a stolen time. But our lives have different paths carved in front of us and I came here because I don’t want to leave anything unsaid before we part. Let’s take our love and bury it in this stolen time. I cannot have you wait for me when the prospect of my demise is high--and even if I don’t perish, I know I’d want to sail into the unknown where my own fate will be a mystery. Even if we end it here, it doesn’t change that I loved you for true. You’re always going to be a part of me.”_

_Gendry’s eyes watered and he held her arms, realizing her declarations to be true and final. Though it will take him forever to accept, he knew that once she spoke, her mind was made up. “I hope you take some memory of me with you--wherever you go.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Arya nodded. “I know I will.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _They made love twice more that evening._ _  
  
_

_When morning neared, Arya gazed upon his sleeping form and placed a final kiss upon his lips before departing for King’s Landing._ _  
_ _“Thank you, Bull.”_

**_A Prisoner Of Your False Assumptions_ **

_“Shortly after you depart, and on the waters unknown, you will encounter an adventure not expected, and it will fill you. It will make you forget long enough until the time for you to come home beckons--so the song can begin.”_

_  
_ _The waters on the sail returning to Westeros were a lot kinder than the waters she took to leave it. For one, she was retching the entire time, not knowing that she was with child, and two, the thought of starting life anew in a different land didn’t seem to excite her as much now that she would be responsible for a new life._ _  
_ _  
_ _She was wrong._ _  
_ _  
_ _She gave birth at sea and named him Edren Brandon Snow, after her father and the brother who prophesied his birth. It didn’t take her long to realize that being a mother was an adventure on its own, and life in Amaranthine would have been an absolute bore without her precocious son to raise. He took an immediate liking to swordplay, was quick-witted, and ferociously independent._

_There was no way she could travel to Westeros without him so she divulged her ability to mask her form, so she could be on foot without being recognized. The young boy was quick to understand and abide by his mother’s secrecy._ _  
_ _  
_ _Arya and Edren spent a month on horseback before settling for another month at the Inn, where she revealed herself to one of her most trusted, remaining friends._

_  
_ _“Arry?” Hot Pie asked, terrified._ _  
_ _She had waited for the inn to empty before she sat him down with Edren._ _  
_ _“Why--why did you look differently before?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”_ _  
_ _Arya explained that she had some unfinished business that she had to attend to without drawing any attention as the so-called The Hero Of Winterfell. For his part, Hot Pie filled her in on the current state of the game in the Six Kingdoms. Though she learned about Daenerys’ demise upon her arrival, and Jon’s subsequent reign, she didn’t hear the details of it all._

_Her heart broke for Jon when she learned that he lost both his daughter and his wife at the same time. She snuggled a little closer to her own son that evening._ _  
_ _  
_ _She entrusted Edren’s care to Hot Pie so she could see Bran and inquire about his missive. Hot Pie now had a family of his own and they were given quarters inside the Inn per his employment. His wife Magda worked as the keeper and he continued his work in the kitchens. Their twin daughters, Genna and Arianne were instantly friends with Edren as they were about a year younger than he is. They thought his accent was fascinating._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hot Pie, no one can know I was here.” she firmed. “I already talked to Ed, he understands the situation and is too happy to comply.”_ _  
_ _Hot Pie nodded. “Of course, Arry.”_ _  
_ _She shot him a look._ _  
_ _“Sorry! Syria. Syria. Syria.” he repeated to himself as he packed more pie pockets and bread inside her leather bag._ _  
_ _“No one is in any danger. I just--” she looked at Edren, who was happily playing with the girls. “I don’t want anyone to ask--”_ _  
_ _“Arry--you don’t--friends don’t have to explain.” he muttered, handing her the filled satchel. “Just pay for the horse. Edren can have the spare room that you share, no charge. He’ll dine with us everyday and he’ll be safe here, he’ll be my family.”_

_Arya smirked and deposited a generous coinpurse in his palm anyway. “In case he needs anything. But I shan’t be gone long. Not long at all.”_

  
Arya believed that she was a free woman. Lived on her own for years, raised a child by herself amongst strangers in a different country, and at peace.   
  


It was a lie.

It was a lie that her heart didn’t acknowledge until it was forced upon her when she reunited with Jon. Memories surfaced, feelings unchanged.  
  
Edren gave her much comfort and joy for true--but in her heart a powerful void reigned. The peace was an illusion, a numbing effect that was displaced by nightmares of his painful death. Arya’s soul was being beckoned home, cursed by the lack of closure that she deprived him of, that she was all too determined to grant Edren’s father. 

It took Arya five days to reach the Inn instead of two--and it was early in the eve. The hastiness of her departure didn’t allow her to secure a horse immediately, and she had to exit the eyes of King’s Landing on her feet alone. The moon shone brightly in the dark sky and no stars were in sight, she couldn’t wait to see Edren and inform him that her business is finished in Westeros once and for all, and they could head back West.   
  
‘I deserve the pain of the nightmares that will plague me for the rest of my life.’ Arya thought. ‘I will bear it. Just let me live long enough for my son to be grown and if I should fall off sanity or the end of the world after, I will take it with whatever is left of my cold broken soul.’ 

Arya dismounted her new horse at the stable and made her way towards the Inn.   
She didn’t notice that the place was unusually deserted too early for sullen thoughts occupied her mind. 

The welcoming lodge was empty as well which was highly unusual at dinnertime, Hot Pie really became famous for his stew around the area. Magda was at the receiving window with a tradesman who needed directions to another Inn.   
  
“Oh! You’re here! Wait right there--” Magda mouthed to her as she motioned for the tradesman to give her a moment. 

Arya shook her head. “Take your time, I can find him.” 

Magda wagged a finger at her, seemingly anxious, but the tradesman seemed to need more tending to. “No! Wait--where is my husband…” 

Arya scrunched her face in confusion as she looked around the empty hall.

The fire by the library nook was lit, at least. 

It had one high backed leather armchair that was turned towards it--

and a pair of familiar feet that dangled on the side. 

Arya breathed a sigh of relief and made her way towards the chair, expecting to gather Edren in her arms. They have never been apart for more than some hours and she was ready to greet him properly.   
  
Instead, she came face to face with stern silver eyes.   
  
Edren was comfortably asleep in his arms, and on his lap rested a leather bound book that must've been read to him to sleep.

Arya’s heart thumped faster as soon as she was locked in his scathing gaze.  
  
This is why you thought to leave me again?   
You didn’t want me then, you definitely won’t want me now.   
That’s not for you to decide. It was never for you to decide.   
How did you know where to find me? Why did you remain?   
  
Jon stood, eyes not leaving hers, comfortably cradling the small boy in his arms. He towered over her small frame, his eyes deep with hurt and disdain--and his jaw clenched as they spoke without having to utter a single word.   
  
“Your Grace! I was told to inform you that your dragon has landed comfortably in the woods, at a safe distance from the village--Arya! I mean, Syria… Well--Arya, there’s no one else here. I meant to meet you at the stables. You could’ve told us that His Grace was coming too! I had to find lodging for our current guests because well--his accommodations required all of our available rooms…” Hot Pie came rushing in--met with a scolding look from his wife from the counter.

“What?” he asked innocently.  
  
Jon and Arya continued to stare each other down, they have not heard a single word that he uttered. For the first time since they reunited, Arya felt small--strongly admonished by a stare that accused her of shameful cowardice.   
  
After some moments, Tyrion spoke from behind Hot Pie.   
  
“Right… Hot Pie, is it? Do you go by another name?”   
“My wife calls me dearest, when she’s happy--but, no not really.”   
Tyrion swallowed. “Well, Hot Pie it is. I think it would be best if we retire and leave His Grace and the Princess Arya to speak.”   
  
The only remaining Lannister’s suggestion was for the best, because by the looks they exchanged--this evening was bound to defeat the duration of The Long Night. 

Arya was finally able to get some space from Jon when she collected her son from his grasp, which he easily complied.  
He made sure to give her a warning glance before she left his side, however.

Jon didn’t follow her into Edren’s assigned room where she tucked him into bed and kissed his cheek longingly.  
She smelled his hair and held him for some moments before Magda called her attention at the open door.   
  


“A bath was drawn for you.” she whispered.   
“That’s alright.” Arya replied as she approached the door. “I’m exhausted, I think I’ll just--”   
“Arya, you smell like horse dung and fresh earth.” Magda chided. “I placed some fresh sleepwear in your room--”   
“I can sleep here.” Arya remarked. “Edren and I have shared a room since we got here.”   
“His Grace bought out the whole Inn. The only other rooms that are actually occupied are yours, Ed’s, and Lord Lannister’s. He specifically designated your room across the hall from Edren’s. But stay wherever you like, I can move the sleepwear here.”   
“Where is he staying?” Arya asked.   
“Wherever he likes, as he is The King.” Magda laughed. “I imagine he’d stay at our biggest suite tonight, alone in the east wing, but for the past three days--he’s been spending time with Ed and he’s been staying in the same room that he assigned for you.”

  
Arya bit her lip. “Magda--His Grace and I--it’s…”   
Magda shook her head. “My darling husband always told me that ‘Friends don’t explain.’ as much as ‘Friends don’t pay.’ We’re fortunate to not be friends with His Grace at this moment then.”   
Arya nodded and sighed. “I have to speak to him soon.”   
“I doubt you’d get a wink in tonight if you don’t anyway. Wash your journey away, you know where to find us if you need anything.” 

Arya bathed in peace, somehow confident that Jon wouldn’t disturb her calm in warm water with honey soap and crushed mint leaves.  
  


When she was done, she donned the sleepwear she was provided with a thin black cotton robe. She sat at the foot of Edren’s bed for a moment and held his hand while the warmth in her hair cooled.   
  
Magda was right.   
She wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight knowing that he’s under the same roof after everything that’s happened.

After another kiss to her son’s sleeping head, Arya turned the knob to exit the door in order to seek Jon and give him the confrontation that he posed.   
  
But he was already on the other side, waiting for her.   
  
Some anger had already dissipated from his gaze since her arrival earlier that evening but was still left with determined resentment.   
  
Arya’s eyes remained stubbornly defensive.

Without needing to speak, Jon granted her space as she left Edren’s door partially open before following him across the hall, to the quarters he assigned for her. 

“So--” she spoke, not turning to meet his eyes yet, instead choosing to look out the window. “How did you--everything?” she winced. Her eyes may be looking at the sleeping village outside the inn, but she was seeing nothing. “How did you know?”   
  


Jon leaned against the wall door as it shut. “Does it matter?”  
  


“I suppose it doesn’t.”  
  


Jon stayed silent.   
  


“Why are you here?” Arya asked after some moments.  
  


“To bring you home.” he answered simply.  
  


Arya turned to face him. “I’m not leaving my son. Nor will I raise him in a place where bastards--”  
  


“Are maltreated and shunned from good society or become lords and kings?” Jon answered, meeting her eyes, his jaw clenched once again. “Have you completely lost your wits? How dare you suggest that I would have you abandon him?”   
  


Arya’s lips formed a firm line. “You have some nerve--”  
  


“No you do!” Jon hissed, moving away from the door. “You must have the gravest of nerves to bury me deep inside your cowardly masks…”  
  


“How dare you call me a--”  
  


“That you’ve forgotten that I was once Jon Snow, The Bastard of Winterfell!” he continued, voice low but filled with rage. “You think I’d have anyone treat any child of yours like a bastard? Unwanted and unloved through of no fault of his own? You think--you downright thought I’d ask you LEAVE him so you could stay with me? No, Arya--how dare you! How deep under the earth have you buried me to think me so heartless?” 

Arya’s eyes began to moisten and her lower lip quivered. “You cannot possibly--”   
  


“Possibly want you because of Edren? Tell me, did you stop wanting me because I loved Dany and married her? When I had you in my grasp after all the years we had to spend apart because of war? Did you stop loving me for the pain that my choices put you through because I knew nothing of your feelings for me?”

  
Arya’s chest tightened and she couldn’t reply.

  
“No you didn’t.” Jon seethed. “If my daughter had lived, and I was left to raise her, would you have stopped wanting me then? No, you wouldn’t have. So how dare you assume that I would stop loving you because of your past? What grand audacity granted you the right to decide that my love for you would be so pathetically conditional, vain and shallow?” 

Arya tried to remain undaunted, yet tears fell down her face. She couldn’t utter a single word in response because the threat of more tears flowing loomed over her control.   
  
“You may have continued to love me after everything, but you never forgave me.” Jon’s voice turned hoarse as moisture formed in his own eyes upon watching her relenting form. “ So you did the most cruel thing you can do and ran without a word. So unforgiving that you left me again without so much as a goodbye after I asked you to accept my love in return.”   
  
_Your nightmare ebbs from your fast feet._

“I wish--I wish you had just slit my throat and cut my heart out when you left me for the first time. But after Bran showed me everything, I understood. I understand why you left--I would have broken my own heart if I thought it would secure your happiness too and I could be in the way. I believe that you did what you did because you loved me, even if your departure has caused me pain that was worse than death, you did what you thought was best for me.”   
  
“I despise Bran’s riddles, but he was right. Because shortly after I saw everything, I realized that none of it mattered. None of it matters.”   
  
“I will love whatever different road you took to find me in the same castle.”   
  
“I loved you from the moment you were born. I didn’t realize how it evolved when we reunited because it was naturally a part of me, and this will forever be my fault in this song. I’m not a fool to think that I could lock you up in a tower and chain you to my wrist to keep you from leaving, you will leave me if that is what you choose to decide, but I will not keep anything between the two of us forever unsaid. I love you, Arya. I always have--and I want you, every single part of you, to stay with me.”   
  
With that, Arya slowly sunk to her knees.   
His declaration finally broke her resolve.   
She knew he spoke true by his gaze alone, but when the words left his mouth her defenses about their bond completely perished.

“Had you run again because you decided that my past was unforgivable and the pain that my ignorance has inflicted upon you won’t stand, I wouldn’t have seeked you to stay. I’d have packed your bags and watched you go, with a horse and small retinue if you so wish. I would’ve gladly taken the death that the plague of my nightmares would bring with open arms. But no, you left because you decided that I wouldn’t want you for what you’ve become then--and who you are now, all of you.” Resentment and hurt slowly returned to Jon’s tone.   
  
“You could’ve killed me repeatedly with a dull knife and a glorious cry upon your lips, and I would still love you.” he declared. “You run because you seek freedom from the pain--you’re a fool. You won’t find freedom even if you ran to the edge of the world because you are a prisoner of your own false assumptions.” 

“STOP!” Arya finally exclaimed. “Jon--please. Stop. Stop it.”  
Jon stilled, even if his heart thundered inside his chest and watched her lean against the bed on the floor, with her face inside her palms, sobbing uncontrollably. 

They stayed quiet for some moments until Arya reached a calmer state.  
Jon slowly stepped forward and gathered her small frame in his arms--she didn’t protest. He brought her to the bed without a word and held her in his arms. 

When she leaned in closer to his chest, he inhaled deeply--his nose nudged the scent of honey in her hair and he calmed too. They were briefly taken back to one of their many nights together as children in Winterfell, when the only comfort they could find as rejects were with each other.

His broad palm started caressing her covered arm and she held his body closer to hers.   
The comfort she knew--it might not be enough now.   
  
She dared to look upon his face with swollen eyes to read his current feelings at the moment.   
But they were closed peacefully as his hand stilled on her arm.   
She smiled and placed her hand on his chest, falling right into slumber with him. 

**I Love You.**

  
  
  
Arya awoke moments later still in the comfort of Jon’s arms.   
Slightly differently, though.   
  
In her sleep, the hand that rested on her arm had moved inside of her open robe, cupping the round of her ass on top of the thin white sleeping shift that she wore underneath. Her leg was comfortably splayed on his body and he was turned towards her, his hardness rested on the curve of her hip.

  
A familiar feeling fluttered below her navel as her eyes studied the tent in his pants that firmly pressed against her. She was suddenly made aware that the shift she was given, like most clothing that was loaned to her, was slightly loose on her petite frame, causing most of the flesh on her breasts to be exposed against his own chest.   
  
The vision made Arya bite her lower lip, and against her--Jon’s calm breathing hitched.   
  


When she looked up and their faces met, Jon’s usual steely gaze was as dark as the starless sky that covered the land outside this room.   
  
“You fell asleep.” she whispered.   
Jon nodded. “Aye.”

“Are you still--” Arya started but was distracted by the movement of Jon’s fingers on her bottom as he slowly traced the line between her cheeks, teasingly burying the pads of his digits inside the plump curve. “Are you still cross with me?” she managed.   
  


“Yes.” he answered, not halting his movement, instead curving his hand to gather her dress to find the hem while he caressed up her bare legs to soothe the plain flesh of her ass.  
  


“Jon--” she whispered as he continued to squeeze her softly and her body instinctively pressed towards him. “I--”   
  


Jon captured her mouth in a tender kiss that left her breathless and wanting, her legs were already open to him and his tongue didn’t need to leave her mouth so he could have her beneath him easily.   
  
Unlike the first time they kissed, nothing about this was uncertain. Jon’s tongue was long and wet inside of her, slowly exploring every crevice of her orifice, and she thought she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath if he ever even stopped.   
  


“Arya…” he groaned when he finally lifted from her.   
She raised an eyebrow at him, panting.   
“I want your tongue too.”   
  
She obliged and he sucked on her desperately as his hands slowly left her ass to completely free her of her robe and shift, with only her bottom small clothes covering her dripping cunt.   
  
Jon snarled as he sucked on her earlobe, to her neck, before stopping to lick the rosy peaks of her creamy breasts. 

  
He sucked on both of her bosoms fervently as he caressed them with both his palms, and the sensations that it brought upon her own pussy was immensely unbearable that she had to rub her bare legs against each other to soothe it as Jon feasted on her tender peaks.   
  


When a free hand finally explored down her body to cup her mound, Arya’s breath hitched. Jon had moved her small clothes to the side to feel her slit and Arya stilled.   
“Part your legs.” he asked.   
She hesitantly complied, and Jon sensed her unease.   
“Do you want--please don’t ask me to stop...”   
Arya shook her head and placed her palm to cup his cheek. “I don’t want you to stop. I just--it’s been quite some time…”   
“I won’t hurt you.” he groaned into her mouth. “I won’t hurt you.” his palms traveled down the valley between her chest, stopping to touch the silver lines of the wounds at her side.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” she assured him when she sensed that vengeful rage threatened his desired gaze. “I killed her.”  
Jon looked up at her and removed his own tunic, baring the scars on his chest to her for the first time. He placed her palm in his heart where his scars lay. “I killed them too.”   
  
Arya rose up to kiss his mouth, still a bit daunted by the fact that she was almost completely naked in front of him. Jon responded to her affections passionately as he laid her back down, placing tender kisses on her neck, chest, her scars, stopping slowly to lick the side of her hip.   
  
Arya bit her lip at that sensation.   
“Arya…” he whispered her name as his lips kissed down her navel. “Arya…”   
She lifted her hips when he tucked his fingers inside of her small clothes to slide them down her legs.   
  
Jon’s heart thundered out of his chest upon first laying eyes on her soft, bare cunt.   
Instinctively, he bit his lower lip and hissed.   
The vision right about had Arya reach her own peak right there.   
Arya placed her hand to play with his curls as he nudged her legs so he could look at her pussy some more, and she complied.   
“When I was in Braavos--this was a custom for women and I just--I got used to it.”   
He didn’t meet her eyes because his fully darkened gaze was mesmerized by her dripping red folds. His fingers felt her, slowly touching--and soon enough, his thumbs spread her open before him, forcing Arya to widen her legs to accommodate his ministrations of discovery.   
  


She let him.  
It was his to explore anyway. 

Jon groaned as his fingers slithered easily inside her hole.   
She was so tight, the feel of her silky skin around his digit made his member throb painfully.   
  
But he wasn’t ready.   
No not nearly.   
  
Arya moaned when Jon lowered his face and started to kiss her cunt like he had her mouth.   
Her first instinct was to ask him what he was doing, but by the time Jon had started to lick her sensitive bud passionately, her protests had perished.   
  
He lapped at her eagerly, and her own body rocked her cunt into his mouth instinctively as she matched the rhythm of his tongue--she moaned his name when she climaxed, and his fingers stayed pumping inside of her when he made her taste her own juices by putting his mischievous tongue back inside her panting mouth. 

“You thought I wouldn’t want you like this?”   
  
She didn’t notice that he had undressed, and she touched his cock to discover him as he did her. Jon held her palm after a very short while.   
“I want--I need to be inside you.”   
Arya nodded when he positioned himself on top of her, the tip of his cock touching her slippery cunt before entering her with ease.   
  
Arya closed her eyes, celebrating their oneness.  
He pumped into her slowly, with long experienced strokes.   
  
The feel of Arya’s pussy wrapped around him captured his entire being--he knew he wouldn’t last long.   
“It’s been awhile--I can’t…” he groaned.   
“It’s alright--Jon--it’s alright.” she replied.   
“Look at me, please… Arya look at me when I spill inside you.”   
Arya did as he asked, her mouth open as he continued to fuck her.   
“I love you…” Jon growled.   
Arya bit her lower lip as the rhythm of his hips fastened, fucking her in earnest, his hard cock was relentless inside of her and she closed her eyes to feel.   
“No--look at me.” he commanded. “I’m going to come inside of you.”   
“Jon…” she whispered. “Jon… Jon…”

He groaned her name as he convulsed on top of her, seed deep inside her womb, the ankles of her feet resting on his ass.   
He seeked her mouth as he softened inside of her, and she responded affectionately in return.   
  
“Are you still cross with me?” she teased when his mouth left her.   
Jon’s brows furrowed in feigned annoyance, he placed a kiss on her forehead.   
“What can I do for you to forgive me?” she asked.   
“Don’t deprive me of words any longer my love.” he answered--forehead resting on top of hers. “Tell me what you’ve left unsaid.”   
Arya swallowed. “But you already know that my feelings are for true…”

“I still want to hear it.” he pleaded. "I need to hear it." 

Arya cupped his jaw tenderly and seeked his eyes. "I love you." she whispered. "I love you."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! 
> 
> Unlike the other chapters that I published, I'm not 100% happy with this one--but the story is there nonetheless. I might edit this chapter later. I didn't want to halt the chapter without reuniting these two, because some scathing reviews have made me fearful of getting kicked off the Jonrya ship--MY FAVORITE SHIP!
> 
> I know that the flashbacks are HASTY--it is with good intentions. I want to explore backstories in one-shots as part of these series in great detail after I complete this story (2 more chapters! If you're still here, please stay with me!)
> 
> Guys, as I'm sure you've read if you're reading this: I'm not the best at smut. I'm trying to improve, I promise--why? Because I absolutely love reading smut and I don't understand why I can't write it as well as I absorb it when I read really good ones... 
> 
> S/O to: NamiH and Lin! Ya'all have been with me too since the beginning. Stay with me! 
> 
> I always respond to comments and am appreciate constructive critique. Just please keep in mind that I didn't start writing fanfiction because I feel like I'm some sort of ASOIAF scholar. -__- I also know that my writing is more of a light read compared to the heavy literary warriors here, but we all have stories in our heads that I feel like we could share peacefully, no? 
> 
> Happy Reading Guys! Two more chapters!


	10. The People That They Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same Question, Different Time.  
> Maple Tarts from Storm's End  
> Gifts  
> The Heart Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone who's still reading this!  
> Before you read, I just want to tell you that it'll be fast from here on out.  
> You may feel like you're getting robbed some scenes; AND I TOTALLY GET IT!  
> You won't be; you'd just have to wait for the extended versions of the scenes that you're waiting for. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

**Privacy**

It was late in the morning when Jon woke, alarmed for a brief second when Arya’s side of the bed felt cold in his palm, until he turned to find the ribbon of her black robe from the night before wrapped in his other hand.   
  
He smiled, understanding her message. 

‘She stayed.’   
  
His mouth curved as he recounted the night before in his mind--the relief he felt upon voicing his declarations and softening her resolve, Arya falling asleep in his arms upon realizing that her fears about the past didn’t change that they belonged together, that they were each other’s home, and having her beneath him while she moaned his name.   
  
His name never sounded sweeter.   
  
In between conversations, laughter, touches, and assurances of affection, she allowed him to have her thrice more before they finally slept. Arya didn’t hesitate to part her legs when he asked, either by gaze or with words, because he was mesmerized by the sight of her shaven pussy overflowing with his seed. The vision of her cunt was a highly addictive memory, that instead of being exhausted this morning, he was already yearning to be inside her again like a greenboy who’d gotten his first lay.

Jon managed to control his urges and came down to the lodge after freshening up with the washwater that was provided in the rooms along with a fresh pair of casual clothing.   
  
Tyrion and Hot Pie stood upon his entrance.   
“Your Grace.” They greeted in unison.   
Jon gave them a short nod and a genuine grin before he motioned for them to stay at ease.   
Tyrion smirked, amused at his unusual smile. “I must say--it’s refreshing to see you so--”   
Jon raised an eyebrow, boyish smile still intact as he took the head seat of the table.   
Tyrion never finished his sentence, and instead motioned for food to be served with a knowing smile upon his own face.

“Lady Arya and Young Ed went for a ride in the woods this morning.Though he was willing to wait till you awoke, his mother insisted that you needed to rest.” Tyrion reported as some servants placed thinly sliced poultry dressed with vegetables and boiled potatoes with a goblet of light ale in front of Jon. “In under no circumstances must your slumber be disturbed, was the Lady's firm order.”   
  
Jon laughed. “I can’t say I’ve fully rested now, but I appreciate that order.” 

“With respect, Your Grace--I’d rather deal with your dragon than face Arya if we broke any sort of order she asked.” Hot Pie teased.   
  
Since suffering an injury from the great war, Rheagal slowly became more of a docile dragon, eager to fly for transportation purposes and leisure rather than a war one. Jon made the decision to send Drogon to Dragonstone under the care of the remaining Unsullied, because he remained combatant in his stance. He stands guard at the burial spot of Daenerys and their daughter. 

He thought about his own direwolf, Ghost--who stayed in Winterfell under the care of Tormund. He visited the beast whenever he could, but at the time he decided that he would be happier in the North where the Direwolves truly belonged. He thought about Arya wanting to see him, and that maybe it was time to bring him down to The Red Keep. 

“I took the liberty of informing the council that our stay here would be extended. There is no issue, I suppose. Ser Davos seems to have order and holds court for you along with Lord Brandon--however…”   
  


“Hmm?” Jon asked.  
  


“He seems to be unsurprisingly aware of this earlier on, and I was informed that he sent some men up here to escort us back.”

“I’m sure he has good reason, but I will have to fly back with Rhaegal and you had no issue. It’s a lot faster anyway.” Jon answered. “Though--he’s right, Arya may not have a problem with flying, but she might not be too keen about Edren riding a dragon. The men could ride back down with them.”   
  
“I can ride a dragon?” a chirpy voice boomed from the door. Edren excitedly walked in, followed by Arya and immediately seeked Jon’s lap. He started picking some vegetables off his plate, with no regard for any decorum, which Jon found refreshing.   
  
Arya laughed heartily as she observed her son’s immediate comfort with Jon. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? But I’m afraid you cannot ride a dragon until I do.”   
  
Jon shot her a knowing glance with a proud smirk. 

Arya narrowed her eyes and her face turned crimson. “Ed, let His Grace eat for now, yes? Do you want to practice outside with Needle?” 

The boy raised an eyebrow. “His Grace?” 

In between chews, Jon laughed. “I asked him to call me Jon, Arya.” 

Arya bit her lip and shot him a look.   
‘He might get used to calling you by your name in front of people--you are still The King, Jon.’

Jon acknowledged her glance and mussed the young man’s hair. 

‘Let’s talk about it later.’ 

‘You won’t want to talk later.’

‘Right. Neither would you.’ 

‘Prat.’ 

They all stayed at the Inn for another week, with the small retinue camping in nearby barracks as Jon insisted on privacy during this blissful time. He spent the day with Arya and Edren, fishing, riding, swordfighting and climbing trees, they dined with everyone at mealtimes, Tyrion and Hot Pie’s family. Stories were exchanged all day by the fireplace and about the grounds.   
  
Jon quite enjoyed reading to Edren--who reminded him so much of his mother. The boy was also quite attached to the sword that he gifted Arya, once prompting her to say; “Needle is kind of a limb to me, love. You can take care of it for now, but Needle is my sword.”

Without having to say a word to each other about it, Jon and Arya kept their affections behind closed doors. Not to say that Tyrion, Magda and Hot Pie were unaware--but they never asked about it. Every night, after reading to Edren by the fireplace, Jon would retire for the evening in the lone suite by the east wing and wait for Arya to walk in after the boy falls asleep. 

These nights were full of passion--Jon would give her every kiss that he couldn’t give her during the day, and Arya would return his hunger most fervently. She didn’t hesitate when Jon asked if he could eat her out while she rode his face--and she soon learned that Jon’s hunger for kissing her pussy is limitless--not that she had complaints. Before the sun would rise, Arya would kiss him tenderly before she retired to her own room across from her son’s. 

Jon didn’t want to press matters before its due, but he looked forward to the day when he could awake with Arya in his arms. 

**We Will Endure**

  
On the eighth morning of their stay Jon was awakened by Tyrion in his room to inform him that Gilly had sent him a package, delivered by one of their men--to be specifically given on this day.   
  
Jon was momentarily puzzled, until he opened the black velvet box. 

_“Did you do what I asked for?”  
_ _Gilly nodded._

Jon smiled earnestly as he was finally able to figure out one of Bran’s meanings without angering himself over his impossible riddles.   
  
He knew exactly what this was for and he loved his brother for it.

\-----

Arya changed into her sleeping gown after tucking Edren in for the night to get ready to see Jon in his chambers--but on her way, she found him standing by the library nook’s fireplace in deep thought.   
  
“Hello there.” Arya called. “Not ready for bed?”   
  


Jon turned to face her. “Not quite. Tea?”  
  


Arya shrugged. “Ale.”   
  


Jon handed her his goblet and she gulped it down.   
  


‘Are you ready now?’ she gazed at him playfully. 

Jon swallowed and he took the same seat that she found him in the week prior, legs parted, elbows on his knees.  
“I--I have something for you. It’s--on the table, right behind you.”   
  
Arya was intrigued by the unreadable look on Jon’s face.

It made her nervous. 

A long black velvet box waited for her at the end table and she slowly opened it.   
  
“Jon… It can’t be…” Arya exclaimed in whisper, bewildered by the sight in her hand.   
  


“It is.” Jon answered from behind her.   
  


“This is--is it Dark Sister?” Arya asked as she ran her fingers from the hilt to the blade front.  
  
Dark Sister is a legendary longsword of Valyrian Steel--once wielded skillfully by Visenya Targaryen. It went missing shortly after the last known wielder had vanished beyond the wall centuries past.   
  
“It was recovered shortly after the last war. I’m sure you know the history behind it. Do you--do you like it?” Jon asked.

“Jon, it’s beautiful! I never thought I’d--it’s beautiful, Jon. Thank you.” Arya still didn’t take her eyes off the sword and she lifted it, comfortably. “This is not a replication. True Valyrian steel.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dare ask for your hand with a replicated sword.” Jon muttered softly from behind her.

Arya turned to him suddenly, with Dark Sister still in her hand, and Jon still seated on the chair with the most determined look on his face.   
  
“Arya--I asked you a question before you left that remains unanswered. I’d like to have an answer now, please.”   
  
Arya gazed at him worriedly. ‘But I did answer, I said ‘I can’t.’--I just don’t know…’   
  
“You said you ‘can’t, but my question was if you ‘will.’” he insisted.   
  
“Jon--I love you, but you’re the King! I was shit as a Lady and as a Queen I would-”   
  
“I didn’t ask if you’d be Queen--I asked if you would stay with me. All the other questions can wait.”   
  
“But Ed,--Jon, if you bring me upon as your betrothed--they’ll ask…”   
  
“Edren will be my son as much as yours.”   
  
“Think about the line of succession when you legitimize him! Jon, the council will have to--” Arya protested.   
  
“The council can take the crown, then we can run away and abandon everything, or I can summon the dragons and burn anyone who says I can’t have you for my bride--but for the seven fucking hells, Arya--will you marry me or not?”   
  
Jon had his hands clasped together, jaw tightened, awaiting her response. 

Arya stilled as her heart thumped inside her chest as she met his gaze.  
  
None of it matters.   
We will endure.   
We always have.

Arya attempted to move towards him when Jon halted his hand. “Careful!”   
  
They both laughed at the repeated irony--a reminder of the first time they had to part. 

She turned to place the blade carefully back in its case, and before she ran to him this time--she made sure that he saw her response with her happy yet teary gaze. 

He stood up to catch her, his eyes closed and he held her tightly.   
  
“Say it to me.” He whispered in her ear after some moments. 

“Say what?” She played coyly.

“I need to hear your answer.” 

“Ask me again, then.” 

“Stay with me.” it wasn’t a question.  
  
Arya lifted her face from his neck and locked their eyes together.   
  
Grey on Grey.  
  
“I will make my vows and bind my hand to yours in front of the Old Gods--and I will stay home.”

Jon pressed his forehead unto hers and they both closed their eyes.

“I yield.” she whispered. “I yield.” 

\-----

It was another two days before they decided to part for King’s Landing. While Jon was truly looking forward to announcing their engagement immediately, he respected Arya’s decision to hold the formal announcement until she concludes her decided journey to Storm’s End.   
  
The discussion was lengthy, but in the end, they both agreed that Gendry had the right to be informed about Edren, and get to know him if he so wished. So Jon and Tyrion would fly back to King’s Landing with Rhaegal, while Arya and Edren would ride with the retinue that Bran sent for them days prior to Storm’s End before she comes back to King’s Landing.

\----

**The Maple Tart Bribe**

It’s been close to a full moon since they parted from the Inn and Jon was growing restless. Ravens from Arya had been plentiful but he yearned for her to be near him, where she belonged.   
  
He had absolute confidence over Arya’s journey, trust was not the issue. Arya informed him that while the introductions were at first quite tense as expected, all parties, including Gendry’s betrothed were amicable in the end. Gendry expressed sincere intentions in getting better acquainted with his son, and they were even asked to stay for the wedding that took place just a week prior.

While Jon was no longer suffering from the nightmares since Arya’s arrival, (Bran said that they would now forever remain dormant as it was simply the song calling them back)--the onslaught of questions that Arya posed when he proposed which he thought to postpone plagued him almost immediately. The crown weighed heavily on his head, and he hardly even wore the drasted thing. The small council was made aware of his engagement upon his arrival, and while he announced it with utmost excitement, he was reminded that he had the best of men under his employ because they asked the most crucial questions; 

The suitability of Arya Stark as his bride didn’t raise an issue. Targaryens were known to marry their own kin, yes--but cousins have married for centuries without question and that’s what they were. She was a legitimate Princess of the North, The Hero Of Winterfell and a successful voyager. In truth, Jon couldn’t have been more fortunate to have secured her hand.

The magnitude of questions fall on his son.

Will you legitimize Edren?   
As a Stark or Targaryen?   
Will he be in the line of succession?   
His father is living and reigns as a Lord of a Great House, will his association with this child be made known? If so, will his legitimization entitle him to House Baratheon?   
Should you legitimize him as a Baratheon instead? 

The questions clouded his mind heavily as he sat in his private working quarters, that he hardly paid attention to the knock on the door.   
  
“Your Grace?” Ser Davos called. 

“Ser Davos.” Jon answered. “Come in.” 

“There is someone here to--” Ser Davos started and chuckled when a beautiful young boy rushed past him to give Jon the most precious hug.  
  
“JON!” Edren exclaimed upon reaching his arms.

Jon smiled as he inhaled the refreshing scent of earth and journey atop the boy’s head and embraced him eagerly in return.  
  
“Lady Arya had asked me to take him to the bath quarters with Gilly shortly after they arrived--but I’m afraid I was easily bribed with this sumptuous maple tart.” Ser Davos explained with a smile. “He insisted on seeing you immediately.”

“Why wasn’t I informed that the retinue had arrived?” Jon asked curiously.  
  
“The men are still far behind us! Mum rides a lot faster. So this morning, we just raced forward. Your castle is so big! I think I could get lost in here! Where is Tyrion? Do all the men sleep here too? Where does Rhaegal sleep? Can I see it? Mum said we’ll be staying here for a while, is that true?”  
  
“Young man, maybe we should go take you to bathe as your mum instructed--I’m sure His Grace will join you for tea right after and he can answer all your questions.” Ser Davos proposed encouragingly.   
  
Edren bit the side of his lower lip. “Why does everyone call you that?”   
  
Jon laughed. “It’s alright, Ser Davos. I’ll take him to Gilly myself.”   
  
“Well then.” Ser Davos conceded. “I took the liberty of leading Lady Arya to the Queen’s chambers to refresh, as it’s been ready for weeks. I’ll be at the library if you have need of me, Your Grace.” he exited. 

“Ed…” Jon started as he took the rubber out of Edren’s messy ponytail. “Did your mum tell you--why you both came here to be with me?” 

Edren raised an eyebrow. “No--but I didn’t ask. I liked that we were coming to you.”

Jon smiled. “You meant that.” 

Edren nodded. 

“You saw how--your father got married last week, no?”

“Yes! At the Sept in Storm’s End--is what it’s called. It was very happy--but it was very long. There was a lot of food, and I liked that part.” 

Jon’s heart started to pace faster but he managed a chuckle. “You enjoyed yourself then.” 

“Quite a bit, yes. But I’m afraid I gave the last maple tart to Ser Davos, so I could see you right away instead of getting a bath.” 

Jon swallowed. “Edren…” 

“What’s wrong, Jon? I think mum might’ve stowed a blueberry one in her satchel if you’re really cross about it.” 

Jon shook his head. “No--it’s not that. I just--I need you to understand why you came here.” 

Edren looked at him expectantly. 

“You see--I… I wish to marry your mother.” 

Edren’s brows furrowed in curiosity.

“So--that would mean that… You’d both stay with me. I’ll be a part of your family. Our home could be in this castle, or not--but it means--it means I’ll be with the both of you forever.” 

Edren still said nothing, blue eyes deeply confused about the seriousness of the conversation.

Jon swallowed. “It also means--that I get to be your father, if that’s alright.” 

Jon stilled as he watched the boy ponder his words. 

“I thought you already were?” came Edren’s reply. 

Jon’s eyes glossed over before he locked Edren in another tight embrace. 

“Jon?” Edren asked from under his arms.

“Hmm?”

“I did save myself another maple tart in my pocket.” he confessed. “I guess you can have it.” 

**Winter's Redemption**

Arya heard the door shut as she stepped off the golden tub. She didn’t need to call out to know who it was. She slipped into the white robe that was provided for her and grabbed a small towel to dry her hair before greeting him.   
  
“I haven’t seen you for a moon and you didn’t think to greet me first?” Jon asked as he latched the door. “I am still King you know, at least Ed seeked me out first.” he teased. 

  
Arya rolled her eyes as she walked towards him for a small peck upon his cheek. “I needed to rid myself of the journey, before presenting myself to you, Your Grace.” 

“What fool advised you such nonsense?” he asked, voice deep as his eyes roamed her barely clothed figure. "Did you really think it was necessary?"  
  
“It would be easier to respond if I had a looking glass on hand, so you could see how you're gazing upon me just now; as if I’m some sort of enchantress.” Arya teased. “Or a tart to be devoured.”   
  
Jon managed a small chuckle before he pulled her back against him for a proper kiss, his hands already grasping her ass cheeks from the robe. He spread her bottom wide to lift her petite frame from the floor when Arya pulled back.

“Wait--” Arya whispered, a hand pressed gently on his chest.  
  
“I missed you.” Jon pleaded, his voice husky, fingers sliding on the gap of her round bottom. “It’s been too long.”   
  
“Just a moment.” Arya insisted as she pulled away from him. She grabbed his hand and led him to sit on the bed and she pulled a package from the trunk covered in gray silk. “I have something for you.”   
  
“I thought it would be fitting if you wore this for our wedding, since you gifted me something from your house to wield as well.” 

Jon slowly unsheathed the newly polished blade from the casing and stared at her in bewilderment upon realizing what it was.  
  
“It was once called ‘Widow’s Wail.’, but Storm’s End somehow ended up with it after the last war, and Gendry replaced the stag hilt with a dire wolf from the same Lannister gold when he returned it to me upon learning that this was part of father’s greatsword Ice. He said that this rightfully belonged to a Stark. He wasn’t wrong.” Arya explained. “When I told him about our betrothal…”   
  
Jon turned to face her.   
  
“He added the dragon wings and some rubies and onyx on it, for the Targaryen colors.” 

Jon studied the sword hilt as Arya sat on the bed beside him.   
  
“I’m--I’ve never been good with words. This is why I greatly relied on your ability to read my eyes--and why I seeked you the most for you’re the only one in the world who’s able to do so.” she started as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I had some time to think at Storm’s End, and I feel like there are some things that must be said.” 

“I never wanted to marry and become someone’s lady wife because my birth as a Stark dictated my future with no consideration for my choices.I remember telling father that being a ‘Lady’ wasn’t me simply because you weren’t a Lord, and I couldn’t imagine not being with you. Though it had a different meaning then, it still stands now.”

“If we decide to continue to carry the burdens of the crown, I’ll be beside you as your Queen. If we decide that it would be best to abandon this life that neither of us wanted and become voyagers, you’d be my first mate. The song may have led us to the same castle, but we still have our choices to make with regards to how the tune is played.”

Jon sheathed the sword back in its case and gazed down to study her eyes. Though she meant every word she said, he knew that declarations that involved vulnerability were extremely difficult for her to vocalize. Arya has always posed a tough, invincible exterior and being sweet was a trait that was always reserved just for him and their father. 

He cupped her cheek and kissed her slowly, appreciating her presence--and in an instant, his anxiety about the questions that threatened their union vanished. 

They will endure.  
Together. 

Arya’s legs wrapped around his torso as they kissed, her loose robe fell out of her shoulders as they moved. Jon held her hips when she rode him vigorously, letting him know just how much she missed him right back.

Jon held her in his arms after they made love and she played with the curls on his head while his free hand roamed up and down the leg that was splayed across his body.   
  
“You never told me the sword’s new name.” Jon queried.  
  
“I thought of others--but finally settled on one. Ice may have taken father’s head by a false wielder’s hand, but the rebirth of two swords deserves a different tale. Oathkeeper reigns in its rightful place to protect Winterfell with Ser Brienne, and now Winter’s Redemption will serve the Six Kingdoms, wielded by a wolf from the North.”   
  


**Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger**   
**Come Before The Old Gods On This Night**   
  


Arya gazed at her reflection on the looking glass, only wearing a silk white chemise with her long wild locks loose on her shoulders. Today, she will finally make her vows before the Old Gods in Winterfell to be Jon’s wife.   
  


They had already exchanged their vows three moons past, in the redesigned Great Sept in King’s Landing, under strong advice from the small council for the realm’s appeasement. Their hands were bound in front of all the Lords and Ladies of the Six Kingdoms, she wore an ivory dress imported from Myr that was beautifully imbued with stones from each of the Six Kingdoms that they reigned over. She was crowned the day of that wedding, with an iron crown that matched Jon’s and a sumptuous feast welcomed them happily after.   
  
Their betrothal was met with apprehension when it was first announced, of course. Targaryen champions were vocal about Northern Invasion conspiracy theories, most conservatives were unaccepting of a ‘cuckhold King’ as their sovereign because of Edren’s presence in the family, salacious rumors surfaced regarding the parentage of Edren, as some believed that he was born from the Night King himself!   
  
But Jon’s council--truly were the best of men, and his reign would’ve been disastrous without them. Edren was legitimized as a Stark shortly after the announcement of their betrothal and Jon had presented him to court as his own adopted son. While the boy would not be included in the line of succession, as strongly requested by his mother, he will have his own freehold in the Six Kingdoms when he comes of age--and only if he wished. Not everyone was convinced, but because Jon’s reign has been the most peaceful that Westeros has ever experienced, he had more supporters than naysayers and everything went about without a hitch. 

For many reasons, Arya was not eager to wed at the Great Sept. First, the memory of her father’s death was still vivid in her mind, even if the structure had since been rebuilt. Second, she did not practice The Faith of the Seven as Jon had adopted--she served many Gods that helped her get to where she was, and if she were to choose where her words would ring true--it would be in front of The Old Gods, like her father and mother. The small council did make her understand that a wedding for the realm was significant for them to undertake, for Jon remains the King of the Six Kingdoms. True to her word, Arya donned a dress fit for a Queen and pledged to be King Aegon VI’s wife for the rest of her days. 

But today, today was different.   
Today, she won’t be making vows to be Queen.   
She’s making vows to be Jon Snow’s wife, in the Godswood of Winterfell.   
In her mind, their wedding at the Sept was for the realm, but today--today was for her and Jon alone. 

“You look beautiful.” Sansa remarked as she entered Arya’s chambers.   
“I haven’t even dressed yet.” Arya snorted. “You would’ve loved to see me in the dress from my first wedding--simply because I hated being in it.”   
Sansa laughed. “At least I’d be able to see a wedding that I liked for once.”   
  
Sansa was unable to attend their first wedding because she remained superstitious about a Stark remaining in Winterfell after the events that shaped the rest of their lives.   
  
Arya sighed. “This is the only one that counts for me anyway. I’m--I’m happy you’ll be here.”   
  
Sansa held her hand, trying to stifle a laugh. “I would talk to you about what to expect on your wedding night, like mother probably would’ve… But--obviously...”   
  
“Shut up, Sansa.” Arya guffawed. “Maybe I should be the one giving YOU the talk…”   
  
Sansa shrugged. “Perhaps…”

“Wait--there hasn’t been…”   
  
Sansa shook her head. “My experience--hasn’t been… Like the ones in songs, Arya. It was rather painful for me and I can’t seem to find the desire to visit it after all these years. I know I should think about heirs soon, but it hasn’t…”   
  
Arya gave Sansa a hug. “I’m sorry. Truly. Your happiness is what matters most, and from what I learned during these last few years--things are supposed to happen in their own time, if it’s meant to be.”   
  
Sansa returned her embrace in earnest. “Jon’s a good man. You’re both fortunate to have each other.” 

Arya lifted her head from Sansa’s shoulder and seeked her eyes. “I was worried about what you would think. When I sent you the raven, your response was very short and polite.”  
  
Sansa tucked a loose curl from Arya’s cheek behind her ear. “I will be honest with you--I’ve always been envious of your bond. It’s like no other. You were always so close, and you read each other’s minds so effortlessly. He would never say no to anything you asked for, and he was the only one you’d listen to. I just didn’t confirm to what extent until seven years ago, during the preparations for The Long Night.”   
  
“How do you mean?”   
  
“He would seek you all the time, and was uneasy when you would disappear from his sight--it was amusing to watch. What’s funny was that he didn’t seem to notice that he was being that way--but everyone else did. When you left, I received the most scathing missive. I knew he’d be cross but I didn’t expect to be scolded by the dragon in him! So it was no surprise to me after you came back, that you’ll eventually realize that you belonged to each other.”   
  
Arya sighed. “I’m sorry you had to endure that because I ran. In truth--I needed to heal from everything we suffered.”   
  
Sansa stood and kissed her cheek. “Hush, I’ve no need for apologies. I have what I need right here, my sister has returned--and she will wed a good man for love, who also happens to be a King! Let’s get you ready, because as we both know, your groom is known to grow restless without your presence.”   
  
Sansa presented her with a beautiful winter white fitted wedding coat that allowed her to wear trousers and riding boots underneath. It was adorned with white wolf fur and dragon glass stones served as buttons on the cuffs. Sansa had respected Arya’s wishes to wed Jon as she was, a warrior explorer, she made sure to use her talents to reflect that.   
  
Arya’s hair lay loosely on her shoulders, slightly curled with an iron by Sansa. She opted not to wear her crown, and instead had Edren fashion one out of Winter Roses from the castle grounds. She made sure that Dark Sister was repolished in the armory for a final touch and sheathed it proudly on her belt.

\-----

Jon stood nervously by Bran and Ghost as they awaited Arya’s arrival in front of the ancient heart tree. The same tree that their father, Eddard Stark sat upon to polish his greatsword that birthed the one he wielded now. The same tree that witnessed the end of The Long Night by Arya’s hand, and the very same tree that he revisited in his mind daily as a reminder of their reunion after many years.

And though he didn’t know it yet--it was under the same tree in which Arya realized her true feelings for him seven years past.

Jon wanted to present himself to Arya this evening as he were, to reflect her wishes. He didn’t wear a crown, and passed on the formal red and black doublet that he wore for their first wedding to don his black leather armor with a gray cloak that The Queen In The North gifted him the day prior. It was gray for Winterfell, carefully embroidered with the three headed dragon and white direwolf with red eyes. 

Sansa walked in first, wearing her crown, escorted by Ser Brienne and Tormund at her sides with lit torches. She stood on the side opposite Jon’s, where Arya would take her place. Tyrion, Ser Davos and Podrick followed them shortly and stood on his side as well. 

Jon’s heart stopped when Arya finally walked in from behind the trees with Edren holding her hand. Their friends surrounded them, but unlike their first wedding, her eyes solely locked in his gaze proudly, and she smiled without reservations--much like the girl who used to climb into his room to seek his comfort as a bastard in Winterfell. Tonight, in front of the Old Gods--she would finally be his. 

“Who comes before the Old Gods on this night?” Bran called.

“Arya of House Stark comes here to be wed.” Edren answered carefully, looking at Sansa for guidance. “A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”   
  
“Jon.” Jon answered with emphasis and a clear look upon Arya’s delighted face, for when they took their vows the first time, he had to say his regnal name. “Jon Stark Targaryen, King of the Six Kingdoms. Who comes to give her?”   
  
“My name is Edren.” Edren answered, but was softly nudged by Sansa. “Sorry! Edren Brandon Stark of House Targaryen who is her trueborn son.” He then released his mother’s hand and stood beside Sansa who rubbed his shoulders for a job well done.   
  
“Lady Arya, do you take this man?” Bran asked. 

“I take this man.” she responded.

Jon took Arya’s hand and they knelt before the face tree, surrounded by the prayers and torchlights of the people that surrounded them. 

Moments later, Bran beckoned for them to stand and asked Jon to cloak her under his protection and love. 

Arya seeked his eyes as he fastened the cloth on her shoulders. ‘Thank you for loving me.’  
  
Jon smiled. ‘Thank you for staying.’

And when they kissed to seal their union, it wasn’t modest or reserved like their wedding at the Sept.   
  
They were home.   
  
They will behave as the people that they were.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what most of you will say;  
> You wanted to see Gendry meet his son, and to have further details about Edren's legitimization, no?
> 
> I briefly contemplated just publishing the second part of these series; just to show you that meeting.
> 
> Let me explain, I'm beginning to realize that tags are taken very seriously here. So I wanted to give each oneshot and organized tagline so as to not ruffle anymore feathers unnecessarily. (i.e Gendry and Edren's meeting would require the Gendry/Arya (past) tag) 
> 
> I have quite the epilogue to write. I hope you stay tuned!
> 
> PS: Some of you have expressed that you're not ready for this story to end; it won't!  
> I feel like I could explore more background stories in the one/two shots that I intend to be a part of this main story as a series. I will also consider any oneshots (in relation to this particular story) that you'd like to see.  
> I already got requests for more Jon as a father scenes, and some others. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to throw them my way. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're still with me and that you're all being safe at this time. 
> 
> Much Love,  
> Meesh
> 
> S/O: Jujingamay, Shelly Loves Kale, ARoyalUser, DracooMalfoy, and JG!  
> You guys are totally making my first time on the fanfiction writer world so comfortable.  
> I can't thank you all enough for being so supportive. I can't wait to hear more from you!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first story!  
> I came upon Jonrya because I was looking for Gendrya fics--and low and behold, I have turned.  
> I just want to say, before the comments flood in (I hope they do!) that my purpose in sharing my works is to first and foremost have fun, and have an outlet for my real life frustrations. There will probably be plotholes and innaccuracies and all that jazz, for which I hope you'd be more forgiving. I have like 21 unfinished Aryacentric stories that I haven't published or shared with anyone! But since Emilie_L_C wrote one of my prompts, I kind of got encouraged to share one of them--for now. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Please forgive my awkward phrases if there are any!


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